


i've been blinded (but now i can see)

by lyssawolf



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Artist Harry, M/M, Model Louis, Trans Louis, Yayyy, also some transphobia, but enjoy, especially during transition, i had to start over on this because chrome crashed, i just realized i forgot to put that but yeah there's probs gonna be a heavy bit of angst, i know it's sad but it unfortunately is a big thing trans people have to face, probs some smut, this is gon be shit, why do i keep forgetting important tags?!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:29:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5318759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyssawolf/pseuds/lyssawolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis' changed a lot, and Harry's kind of stayed the same. But he knows when a door's opened for him, and he can't help but think blue eyes look a lot like blue skies.</p><p>Title from I'm Set Free by The Velvet Underground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of a projection of what I've been dealing with recently, so... if it's crap that's why. Also, I don't know much about trans and transitioning but I'll do the best research I can, if not for this but for myself? I don't know this is dumb.  
> Okay and this chapter is kind of a prologue, just setting up things. That's why it's so short.

_You have 3 new messages._

Louise presses the button to start the playback.

_Thursday, three thirty five p.m._

_"Loubear, sweetie, it's your mum! Guess what? I saw another of your photos in my magazine today! I'm not really a fan of the lack of clothes.. but, you know, you looked great! I'm very proud of you. Anyway, dear, I'm calling because, well, it's almost that time of year again, and I'm already planning our Christmas dinner. I was wondering if maybe you're going to stop by this year? I know work is busy, but your sisters miss you... I miss you. Um, but, just, you know, give me a call and let me know! Love you!"_

_Beep._

Keys drop on the hardwood surface of a coffee table, next to a cup with dried tea remnants in the bottom.

_Thursday, four twenty two p.m._

_"Hey Louise, it's Zayn. I know I don't usually leave messages or anything but your mum's been on my case about this Christmas dinner thing. So, you know, call or summat. Also uh.. I have an art showcase coming up.. not that you ever go to any of them but. It's in December. In case you're actually gonna show up for Christmas. Whatever, call your mum, please? Bye."_

_Beep._

A light turns on in the hallway, and the black telephone is suddenly visible. 

_Thursday, four forty eight p.m._

_"Louise, this is Vivian. Great job with the shoot today! I have some good news. I was going to have you call me to hear it but... I can't wait. I got you the_ Gucci _shoot! Yay! Ha, anyway, you'll have about a week or two of break before we get started on it. You're still okay with it being so close to Christmas, right? Just text me. Ta!"_

_Beep._

_End of new messages._

Down the hallway, there's another light on, incandescent white silence pouring from an open doorway. Inside, Louise stands in front of a small porcelain sink, staring at her reflection. Her? She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes as it fills her tired lungs and exits through her nose. She swallows hard before blinking them back open. 

Meeting her gaze is a girl, or perhaps a woman now, since she's so close to reaching her 24th birthday. Her mother had always said she was a Christmas gift, her first beautiful daughter born just before Santa came clattering down on the rooftop.

Looking at herself, she's not so sure she feels like a gift. She'd never really thought so deeply when she was younger. When she'd opted for playing football with Zayn rather than entertaining herself with the dollhouse her grandmother had painstakingly made for her, she'd blown it off. Fighting to wear jeans instead of dresses was a normal thing-- every mother experienced that battle, didn't they? And when, at age 14, her mother had offhandedly mentioned that perhaps they should start looking for bras, her disgust at her own body was easily excused as a dislike for change. 

Perhaps it was her first period that set the wheels in motion. She'd never forget sitting naked in the bathtub, sobbing, feeling horrid and revolting at the sight of the blood. She'd been a little late, actually, not starting until she was far into her 15th year. She had hoped it would never come. 

It's funny how life moved so quickly after that. Secondary school blurred by, with friends coming and going. Zayn stayed though. Zayn had always stayed. Truthfully, he was the only one she really trusted. He'd stood up and by her through thick and thin, the thin being the times she'd ruthlessly fought to find herself (literally, sometimes). But with four younger sisters to take care of, her parents' failing relationship, and uni looming on the horizon, there hadn't been much time to look. Her mother, after years of saying Louise was too beautiful to not be noticed, was delighted when she agreed to try modelling. Though her at-home shoots weren't much, they kept her mind off other things. 

Her grades constantly dipped, even in uni, when she was doing what she thought she wanted to do. Thankfully, her modelling career took hold-- Vivian Manors, her agent, said her portfolio was "modern, yet classic" and "just the breath of fresh air the modelling industry needed." She'd snapped her up before Louise had time to say yes. 

The rest is basically history. She flew through shoot after shoot, her hair experiencing various dyes, her body losing much of the weight it had packed on during uni. She lost contact with her little home in Doncaster, partly because of her career, but partly because of her. Vivian made sure to ask her if she wanted to take a break every time Christmas came around, but Louise just... just wanted to lose herself in her work. So Vivian kept booking shoots. 

Now, here she was, another Christmas coming up, and another shoot booked for the season. But something had changed. Something felt different.

She stares at her hair. It's brown now, her original brown, and long enough to reach her midsection. Off the job, she keeps it in a ponytail, out of her face. It annoys her enough during the shoots. She meets her own eyes again, examining the blue circling dark pupils. In her peripheral vision, her face is all sharp cheekbones and strong jaw. 

"Maybe I could pull it off," she says out loud, hoping hearing her voice will calm the jumping nerves in her stomach. It comes out light, airy.  _Mysterious_ Vivian calls it. To Louise it just sounds.. wrong. 

Puffing out another breath, she finally moves, dropping her modest black purse in the bowl of the sink and zipping it open. She sifts through the mess inside, mentally crossing off the things she won't have to carry with her anymore, until she finds them. She removes a pair of scissors and holds them up in front of the mirror, glancing between the actual object and its reflection. 

 _It's time_ , she tells herself,  _It's time, it's time, it's time. I can't do this anymore._

She meets her eyes once more, steeling herself. Then she throws her purse on the floor and gets started.

First, the bangs go. She's seen the deft hands of hairdressers snipping enough times to not be too terrible at this task. When the sink holds a nice bunch of brown hair, she examines her work. Her bangs are now a short, soft swoop over her forehead. Not too shabby. But that was the easy part.

Stiffening her shoulders, she begins to chop again, taking off the hair her photographers had called "a work of art" piece by piece.. by piece. It all falls in floating paths to the basin of the sink, gathering into a growing pile. It isn't until she notices some patches hold beads of water that she realizes she's crying, quiet tears streaking down her pale cheeks. She didn't think it would be so hard, really. But then, she's been this way for so long, and change can be hard.

It takes about an hour, hour and a half, before she sets down the scissors for good and really takes a long look at her handiwork. Not much is different. She still has the same strong cheekbones, the same sharp jaw, the same thin lips and bright blue eyes. Though, they're a little more prominent without the long hair to mask them. It's more of an outline now, feathery and short, ending just above her ears. 

For the first time that day, she smiles. And, for the first time in a long, long time, something feels right.

She cleans the hair from the sink, bundling it into the wastebin in the corner of the bathroom. Then she leaves the room. When she reenters, she's carrying a plastic bag from Tesco. She pulls out the contents, two sports bras, and drops the bag next to her discarded purse. She breathes again for a minute, wondering if she's moving too fast. Then she catches sight of herself in the mirror, and is almost startled. Maybe the hair is a bigger change than she thought. But.. it's nice.

She decides to keep going. After all, she's been waiting to do this all day-- has been considering doing it for even longer than that. She squeezes her eyes shut and removes her shirt. Her stomach is smooth, leading up to a simple black bra covering her breasts. Her throat clicks when she swallows this time, but she unhooks the bra and shrugs it from her shoulders. She pulls the first sports bra on quickly. She never goes without a bra for long. She's always been a little disgusted at the sight of her own breasts. 

The second one takes a little longer, since it's a bit smaller. When it's in place, her eyes find the mirror again. The two bras look silly on her thin body. The looks aren't really the point though, she thinks ruefully, smirking a little. She retrieves her shirt and tugs it back on, feeling less resistance than usual. Her heart lifts. 

This time she doesn't search for the mirror right away. Instead, she stares at her bare feet, watching her toes wiggle on the carpeted floor. 

 _Please_ , she thinks. She doesn't know why she chose that word. She doesn't know what she's begging for. 

Finally, with a sigh, she looks up. 

Meeting her gaze is... someone new. Technically, it's still a girl, or perhaps almost a woman now. But in appearance, it could be mistaken for a boy, or maybe, a man. A man that's almost 24, that's tired of being lost, and ready to stop feeling wrong. 

Louise looks at herself in the mirror. Herself? No,  _himself_. 

And who's Louise?

"My name is Louis," he says, tears dripping from his chin to the floor. 

And, for the second time that day, he smiles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my best friend ([kinkystyles](http://kinkystyles.tumblr.com)) for giving me ideas and saying "JUST DO IT" when I complained about writing again. Also, I have a tumblr ([tomlinsavage](http://tomlinsavage.tumblr.com)) if you want to say hello and maybe help me out/beta me on this thing. I feel like it would help me to actually finish this, since all the other stories I've started have... just kinda fizzled.. sorry about that by the way...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Change takes time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not going to set a date for updates, because I probably won't meet it and I'll disappoint people like I did with my last few attempts at stories. BUT I'll try to update as often as possible. I have finals for the next couple of weeks, but after that is Christmas break, so I'll be able to keep a more regular schedule with this. Just bear with me as much as you can, alright? Also, if anyone wants to beta... that'd just be awesome.  
> Okay enough chatting from me. Enjoy this! Or try to!

The next morning begins like any regular day. 

Louise wakes with a yawn, rubbing sleep crust from her eyelids.

Wait. 

Reaching up with tentative fingers, she finds the edges of her soft brown bangs. Then she brushes her hand backward quickly, holding her breath. Her hair musses and falls flat again, short and fluttery like down. 

She drops her hand with a relieved sigh and looks out the window to her left. The sun is playing bright stripes of pale yellow across the floor, and a bird's muffled trilling carries through the windowpane. 

"My name is Louis," a sleep-hoarse voice replies to the song. And Louis smiles. 

Louis does everything that Louise used to, sort of. He gets out of bed, his feet bare, his t-shirt rumpled over his boxer briefs (the underwear Louise had only worn to sleep in and on her days off). He trudges to the kitchen, fills a kettle with water, and begins to warm it on the stove. He pulls a tin of Yorkshire tea from the cabinet and sets it on the counter. Then he prepares himself a bowl of cereal, and makes a note to actually pick up another half-gallon of milk soon. Perhaps today. He forgot yesterday.

Glancing into the living room, he sees his keys still resting on the coffee table next to the dirty cup, which reminds him he hasn't checked his cell in a while. He hurries to the bathroom, rummages through the purse on the floor for only a second before he finds it. It powers up quietly before displaying a notification for four text messages-- two from his mum, one from Zayn, and one from Vivian. He swipes the messages away, instead pulling up Spotify. Music is soon surging through the tinny speakers. 

The kettle whistles shrilly in the kitchen. He lets it scream for a minute as he collects the cup (his favorite one) from the coffee table and scrubs it clean. He makes his tea just like Louise did-- a splash of milk in the bottom, no sugar. As he carries the tea and his bowl of cereal to the living room, picking up the remote to flip the TV on before flopping onto the well-worn sofa, he allows himself time to think, because he hadn't really yesterday.

On the TV, a children's show is flashing bright colors, but the volume is on mute, and the cartoon shapes only seem to make him think of Zayn. He looks at his phone, still crooning from the kitchen. He and Zayn used to be so close, but now Louis doesn't know what he's going to say if he gets around to replying. The thought makes him cringe, so he moves that problem to the back-burner for now. 

It wasn't like he hadn't considered doing this sort of thing earlier, when he'd sat in his room sobbing because he didn't know how to respond to that boy in class that had told Louise she was pretty, or how to explain himself to his professor when she'd scolded Louise for sitting improperly. It of course had crossed his mind plenty of times when he'd read about it online, or seen testimonials in magazines. Sometimes, when he and Zayn were leaning against the back of the house and smoking cigarettes they'd carefully hidden away from their parents, he'd hint at it, imply it in some of the words he said. Zayn would smile at him, punch his shoulder and say, "Louise, you're my favorite tomboy." So he kept quiet about it, and when he and Zayn went their separate ways for uni, their relationship kind of... got lost in the rush. So he moved on-- to modelling, that is. It didn't really fill the hole Zayn left, but it put a bandaid over it, held him together when Zayn didn't anymore. 

He really couldn't say why he went so many shoots before deciding he was ready. Seeing Louise in the pictures and splashed across centerfolds was simply like admiring the work of a close friend to him. It was someone else making those poses, wearing those clothes. It was good to make a living on, though. A simple enough job that allowed him to have a nice flat and keep himself well fed. There were times when it was difficult, especially in the changing room, when he had to see himself in the mirror. Once, a shoot required him to wear a dress that was form-fitted, ended mid-thigh, and featured multiple mesh bits that left little to the imagination. He'd had to excuse himself to the loo to throw up after seeing his reflection. When he'd stepped out of the stall, a fellow model had given him a sympathetic smile. Puking is not unusual in the modelling industry. Being uncomfortable in certain clothes seemed normal too-- the other models assured him that "you get used to the itchiness." He got away with a lot due to the implications of industry stereotypes. 

But yesterday, he'd left the shoot feeling sicker than usual. It wasn't Vivian's fault-- he'd really wanted to do the shoot. It was winter themed, which he thought would mean big, fluffy coats and tall riding boots. Instead, it was sheer sweaters layered over extreme push-up bras. He's worn worse before. For some reason, though, this had felt the most uncomfortable. The photographers praised Louise's "bright, wet doe eyes," while the Louis inside was actually fighting tears. 

So, when he stopped at Tesco on the way home, he headed for the haircare section instead of the dairy aisle. The pimply teenage cashier wasn't phased when he scanned the package of scissors and the two sports bras. He didn't realize he was ringing up a new life for the customer in front of him. But inside Louise, Louis was cheering. 

Louis stares blankly at the TV for a bit, then turns it off with a sigh and stands, stretching enough to pop his back. No more thinking, he tells himself as he puts his dishes in the sink and quiets his phone. Time to get dressed. 

"As Louis," he whispers, then pulls at the edge of his shirt with thin fingers, eyeing his short clipped fingernails, "As  _me_."

\-----

Maybe it's too early to try shopping. He watches the store with panicked eyes from the safety of his car, gripping his steering wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white. He's turned off his vehicle, but he can't make himself open the door. People pass by, pushing trollies empty and full, chatting with their families, holding the hands of their children. They're so normal, so smiley and bright. He sucks on his lower lip, his top teeth tugging at the soft skin. He'll be out of place among them, he just knows it. They'll stare and point and whisper, smirking at each other with judgement in each breath. Speaking of breath...

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to make his lungs work. He reminds himself that this is him now, that it doesn't matter how others look at him, as long as he feels... feels...

Feels real. Feels human. Feels like himself, for the first time in forever. 

His shoulders relax first, then his hands, releasing their vice grip on the leather beneath them. Finally he opens his eyes, meeting his gaze in the rearview mirror. 

"My name is Louis. I'm a 23 year old man."

Seeing his short hair framing his forehead makes the phrase really sink in. But then, it's always been sunk in. It's time for it to be let out, to be shouted for all the world to know. Louise was a lie. Louis is  _alive_.

When Louis goes in and picks up a half gallon of milk, no one stares. In fact, the one person that meets his eye smiles and nods. It gives him enough confidence to walk to the other side of the store and pick up a tube of hair gel. He wants to try fixing his hair in a quiff tomorrow, the way Zayn does his. 

The cashier is different this time, an elderly woman with thick glasses and a thicker accent. 

"Have a nice day!" she chirps as he turns away, her voice as spirited as the bird's song from this morning.

Over his shoulder, he smiles and replies, "I think I will." 

\-----

The words Zayn had texted him were:

_Stop ignoring us._

It's the first text Louis' gotten from him in over a month. 

Hesitating, his thumbs poised over the on-screen keyboard, he wants to pour out his story to his best friend, his only friend. He knows he should. Zayn deserves some honesty after all the times Louis' pushed away his worried looks and questions. He deserves to know why Louis spent so many nights in Zayn's arms, crying until there was no tears left, leaving his shoulder drenched. When they were younger, Zayn had begged Louis to explain what was wrong, but Louis refused so many times that after a while he stopped trying. He'd just hold him and whisper, "Hey Lou, you're okay," until Louis calmed enough to sleep, or do his homework, or finish whatever task had triggered the fit. That was enough at the time. Because Zayn was enough.  

Louis often borrowed Zayn's clothes and 'forgot' to give them back, especially during family parties, when Louis was itching to change out of the bright colored dresses his mother cooed over. Zayn never asked for his clothes back, though, and while he gave Louis questioning looks, his mouth learned to stop asking. The sad part of it all was, Zayn had shared his secrets with Louis. At the beginning of secondary school, Zayn had called Louis late one night, sounding anxious and small, asking him if he would like to sleep over. When they were alone in Zayn's room, he learned that his best friend was gay. Seeing the trust radiating from those whiskey brown eyes, he almost told Zayn. He was so close he could taste the words on the tip of his tongue, could feel his lips yearning to say them. But Zayn was embarrassed by his confession, and changed the subject by requesting a round of Fifa. So Louise kept Louis to herself. Zayn didn't bring it up again, so time passed, and the urge to spill to him did too.

Now, Zayn's text glares up at him, the black letters burning into his retinas. 

_Stop ignoring us._

It takes a few minutes, but eventually Louis moves his thumbs, carefully pecking his answer out. When it's written, he hovers over the send button, suddenly unsure. Funny, that feeling. All his life he's been unsure. _Louise_ was unsure-- was uncomfortable, was unhappy. Louis is confident. Louis is wide-eyed and happy. Louis smiles.

"Louis is me," he reminds himself.

He sends the message.

His phone lets him know that it was delivered.

He scans the words one last time before closing out of the thread.

_I'm coming home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Sorry these chapters are so short. Maybe they'll get longer as I have more story to add. Also I apologize if you guys were expecting Larry already, but I feel like I have to flesh Louis out first. Don't worry, Larry's happening soon. I promise. OKAY, but, thanks again to my best friend ([kinkystyles](http://kinkystyles.tumblr.com) is her tumblr) for pushing me to keep going on this, and if y'all want to check out my tumblr ([tomlinsavage](http://tomlinsavage.tumblr.com)) feel free. It's as crap as this is. Also, again, if anyone wants to beta this, please please let me know. It would really help. See you next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letting go and going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOO, okay, we're on the third chapter folks. AmAZING, I'm usually not this into something but I'm struggling here for yall. Okay um yeah I'm still looking for a beta, still hoping for one, just hit me up either here or on my tumblr ([tomlinsavage](http://tomlinsavage.tumblr.com)). Okay let's get to thissss

He still hasn't told them. Not that that's any big surprise, but he was hoping he'd have it out of the way by now. Instead, he's packing his suitcases (half with some of those 'borrowed' Zayn clothes, half with new clothes he's bought over the few weeks he's spent being himself) and humming Christmas songs under his breath. Snow isn't falling yet, but the clouds above are so heavy with it that they're a deep purple, and the ground below is slick with ice.

He's already dressed, his hair quiffed up in the front, wearing a too-big blue jumper and joggers. It had only taken him an hour and two replays of a tutorial video before he learned how to gel his hair up just right. It wasn't quite Zayn's updo, but looked nice either way. The more he's practiced on it, the better it's gotten. Today he's pulled his bangs up and back to curl over the top of his head, sleek, like, say, Danny Zuko from Grease. He smiles to himself at the thought of one of his favorite movies. Maybe he and Zayn would have time to re-watch it over the break. 

Speaking of break... today's his meeting with Vivian about the Gucci shoot. She'd let him be for the first week of silence, but when the next Monday had rolled around she'd began calling him incessantly, begging him to "please let me know something,  _anything_." So, he texted her (for some reason he's afraid he'll sound different on the phone), and they set up a date to discuss things. By 'things', of course, Vivian meant the shoot. He did not. 

He sighs and fights the urge to run a hand through his perfectly done hair. He knows it's going to be a bit of a battle today, but he's hoping Vivian will understand. She's always been the sweetest with him, making sure to accommodate all his needs. To him, this is just another need. A big one for sure but... it'll work out. It has to. 

He's stuffing shoes along the side of his suitcase when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He slides it out and clicks the screen on. He rolls his eyes when he sees 'Mum' next to the subject line of a text notification. Ever since he let Zayn know of his upcoming arrival, his mum has been texting him non-stop, gushing about how she can't wait till he's home to help put up the Christmas tree and make cookies for his sisters. The only thing is that she's expecting  _Louise_. Her daughter. 

He hopes she can get used to Louis quickly. 

The text is full of exclamation points and emojis, but it's basically letting him know that his room is all prepared for him.  _I haven't touched it since the day you left!_ she's added at the end. He looks upward to the ceiling of his bedroom, the cream white paint strangely soothing. There are some bad memories lingering in his old bedroom, but there are also good memories. He realizes his mum won't be the only one getting used to things. 

Another text buzzes in, this one from Vivian.

_Don't forget, 1 p.m. sharp! I'll be at our usual table. ((:_

He slips his phone back into his pocket, zips up his suitcase, and sits back on his heels, staring at the criss-crossed threads in the fabric. He's pretty much ready, just missing his toiletries. Glancing up, his alarm clock reads 12:32 in big red numbers. He stands and brushes his hands off on his thighs, then grabs a denim jacket from his bed and tugs the sleeves over his arms. 

On the coffee table, his tea cup still sits half full, once again next to his neglected keys. He sucks down the bitter liquid, scrunching his face up afterward. Cold tea isn't his favorite. He trots to the kitchen and drops the empty cup in the sink before going back to grab his keys. He also picks up something new, a wallet, and stuffs it into the unoccupied pocket of his joggers. He pats the bulge it makes and feels his eyes crinkle a little in happiness. Everything's getting better, slowly. He prays his good luck continues.

With a last look at his silent flat, he flicks the lights off and exits, his head filled with high expectations for this meeting.

\-----

He sees her as soon as he walks in. The coffee shop they'd chosen, a quaint little hole-in-the-wall called _The Morning Roast_ with soft lighting and even softer chairs, was a typical meeting place for them. It was enough of an unknown gem to be free of the big touristy groups that flock the London scene, and if they showed up after lunch, it was usually fairly vacant as the baristas prepared to close for the night. They came regularly enough that as soon as they stepped over the threshold, the servers were preparing a corner table for them, greeting them with smiles. 

He's so used to being recognized that he doesn't even think as he passes the bar with a bright grin, throwing a hello to the petite woman on-duty and asking for his usual. He vaguely remembers her name being Julie as he looks away, missing the shock that covers her face. 

Vivian glances up from her phone as he approaches, but her eyes don't linger long. In fact, she doesn't even stand, which is strange. She's usually bouncing up onto her toes when she spots him, brushing bits of her flame-colored bob behind her ears before wrapping him into a too-tight hug. At the moment she's simply sitting, swinging her crossed leg, tapping away at the device in her hand. He slows as he comes up to her, frowning slightly. 

"Vivian?" he hedges, leaning toward her a little. 

As if startled, her head jerks up, her eyes wide. She stares at him for a minute, her mouth in a surprised 'o', and her phone drops with a clatter onto the tabletop. Louis visibly flinches, hoping the fall didn't hurt it, and also a little unsure as to what's going on with his agent.

"Lou...  _Louise?_ " she sputters; her voice, while normally high-pitched, is a little too much so at the moment. She still has the deer-in-the-headlights look going on, and her hands are frozen as if still gripping something.

 _Oh_ , Louis thinks, and reaches up to self-consciously touch his hair. He'd almost forgotten this wasn't normal, that this was new to everyone but him. He blinks, fighting the urge to screw his eyes up so tight that he disappears, and instead lets out a calming sigh through his nose. He knew he was going to have to do this. Might as well start with the easiest part. 

"Um," he stumbles, then catches himself, forcing a smile at his agent and stuffing his hands into his pockets, "Call me Louis." 

Her eyes rake over him, her brows furrowing and her mouth slowly closing as she takes him in. Nervous energy prickles under his skin, causing goose pimples to pop up along his arms, even under the two layers of fabric he's wearing. He begins to roll back and forth on his feet, his eyes glancing around. The sparse bunch of other customers in the café remain lost in their own worlds, oblivious to the introduction happening near them, but the barista, Julie, after finally recognizing one of her regular costumers, is shooting Louis wary glances while making his cuppa. He suddenly feels the urge to cry.

"Well, say something!" he blurts, frantically looking everywhere but at Vivian.

"What did you  _do_ to yourself?!" she hisses in reply, and Louis meets her narrowed eyes in disbelief. Her arms are now crossed over her chest, making the huge dangly necklace she's wearing seem lopsided, and she's tucked her sharp chin in, making her appear to be disapprovingly looking down on him. She flicks her eyes back and forth, as if to make sure no one's eavesdropping, and snaps, "Sit down."

Dumbfounded, he obeys. Julie arrives then, setting the cuppa on the table hesitantly like she's afraid Louis' going to bite her. She hurries away before he can thank her. He stares at the swirling tea, the backs of his eyes aching. He goes through his mind, trying to find the script he'd mocked up for this exact moment, but the gears just won't turn. Vivian speaks again, her voice hushed and strict.

"I can't believe you, Louise. I put my ass on the line to get you this shoot, this shoot that you  _begged_ for _._ Is this some kind of joke? Because it's not fucking funny. God.. your  _hair_!" She almost sobs the last word, slapping a hand over her mouth, her face taking on the demeanor of someone who just lost a loved one. She shakes her head once, curtly, and her eyelids drop for a second. Louis takes that moment of respite from her patronising hazel gaze to try to fumble out an explanation, but as soon as his mouth opens she fixes him with a glare and slaps her hand on the table with a smack loud enough to have a few heads turning their way. Louis flinches again.

"This is Gucci, Louise.  _Gucci_. And what are you wearing for a meeting about a  _Gucci_ shoot?" She uses her hand to gesture at Louis' torso, her french-manicured nails catching the dim light, and scathingly remarks, "Ratty, tomboy shit."

She pauses long enough to huff a quick breath, and her face softens slightly. Louis' gripping at his joggers, balling the fabric up in his fingers, but she places her hands on the table, folding them over each other respectably. Then she makes eye contact again, and smiles.

"I know this year's been a difficult one, sweetie. But you've got to...  _communicate_ with me, okay? Let me  _know_ when you're going to do things like this. We're supposed to be working together! And besides," she tilts her head slightly, her smile widening and her eyes gleaming with a look that says 'remember I'm in control here', reaching out to detachedly pat Louis' arm, "I'm here to work for you, love. To make you a star."

A flush is growing along Louis' neck, frustration boiling in his throat. He opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts him off again, holding her index finger out and nodding as her free hand begins to tap things into her phone, "Now, don't you worry about the hair. I'm sure Gucci will-"

"I'm not doing the shoot, Vivian." 

Her fingers freeze as she wrenches her head up. Her mouth is a straight line, and there's fire in her eyes.

"What?" she barks. Beneath her stilled hand, her phone clicks back into sleep mode. The sound of a chair scraping across the floor behind them announces someone's departure. Probably scared away by the tension crackling around their table. 

Louis allows himself to shut his eyes then, breathing deeply to calm himself. 

"I'm not going to do the shoot."

"Like hell you aren't," Vivian all but growls.

Her mouth opens wide to continue her rant, but Louis stiffens his shoulders defiantly and in a firm voice says, "I can't."

"You  _can't_? Years of working to get this goddamn shoot for you and you give me _that_?" She throws her hands up in the air in a show of exasperation, her face taut and blushed along her cheekbones, "I can't believe, after all I've done for you, this is how you throw it away. And if this is about Christmas, that's your bloody fault. _You're_ the one that said you wanted to work. God, Louise-"

Louis stands, causing his chair to fall back and slam against the hardwood. Vivian's mouth shuts with a sharp click, her brows raised.

"Stop calling me that," Louis says, his hands curling into fists on the table. He's shaking now, but not from fear. He won't be pushed around like this. It's time to stand up for himself. He juts his chin out slightly and eyes her with determination, declaring, "My name is Louis."

"I don't give a shit about this silly new nickname you've come up with," she retorts, crossing her arms over her chest again, her foot beginning to tap noisily, "We're not two girls giggling at a sleepover. We have a  _professional_ relationship, Louise." 

"You're not understanding," he intones, his voice low. 

"Oh I understand perfectly well," she quips, gathering her things and looking at him impassively as she stands, "I nail you the biggest shoot of your career and you decide to fuck me over in return. Thanks, but no thanks. There's plenty of pretty faces out there, honey, just waiting for me to let yours go."

"That's fine with me," he mutters.

"Fantastic! Have fun doing," she gestures up and down his body with her free hand, grimacing, "Whatever the fuck it is you're trying to do. But leave me out of it." 

"I want to work this out with you Vivian. It's hard for me too-"

She laughs without mirth, "I don't see what could ever be so hard for you. You literally had the easiest job on earth. Put some clothes on, pose, have your picture taken, and cash is being shoved up your ass like nobody's business. You know who made that happen for you?  _Me._ You really think you could've made it in this industry without me? Your portfolio was utter  _shit_. Shoddy camera, shoddy lighting, shoddy poses. But I saw the potential in you. I saw what you could become. I built you up enough to put you in the good graces of one of the most prestigious designers on the market. Then you waltz in here, after ignoring me for a  _week_ , in cross-dresser _crap_ -"

"It's not cross-dressing, and it's not crap," Louis interrupts. He doesn't realize he's shouted until he hears the sound of porcelain shattering, and his peripheral vision catches Julie eyeing him in fright. 

He sighs, and curses when he runs a hand through his hair, feeling the carefully placed gel crumble beneath his fingers. He looks up to find Vivian staring at him, suspicion in the lines of her face. For once, she's quiet, waiting for him to explain himself. He fiddles with the bottom button on his jacket, her intense interest making his skin crawl. 

"I," he starts, then clears his throat and meets her eyes, "It's not cross-dressing because I'm a man, Vivian. I'm a man, and my name is Louis." 

God. He never thought how good it would feel to finally say that to someone other than himself. The way relief rushes over him reminds him of stepping into the ocean for the first time and experiencing the waves caressing his bare ankles, then calves, then thighs, wrapping him slowly in a cool, comforting embrace. A smile pushes at the corners of his lips, but he tames it before it blossoms. 

Vivian is still silent, blinking rapidly like she's fighting tears. She examines him again, her eyes making the slow trek up and down his form before landing on his face. He holds his breath, impatient for her response.

It starts soft, so at first it seems fake, but as it grows so does his disappointment. She's.. laughing. Laughing so hard now that tears are coursing down her cheeks, and she's doubled over, clutching her purse to her stomach. 

"You- you-" she stutters, wiping at her eyes, "Oh lord, Louise, that's the most hilarious thing I've heard all day."

"It's the truth," Louis grinds out, "Please stop calling me Louise." 

"Sure, sure," she cackles, waving her hand limply in the air, "Whatever you say, sweetie."

Then she forces herself to calm, and moves close enough to rest her hands on his shoulders and look deep into his eyes, "But seriously, are you okay? Do I need to schedule you a therapist? Because if this has something to do with your family problems, I'm happy to help you work through them. I'm certain Gucci wouldn't mind moving the shoot back a few days to accommodate for your mental health."

He turns his head to look at her from the corner of his eye, his brows furrowing in confusion, "So you... understand?"

"Oh yes! Yes, love. I can see all this work has gotten to you, made you have visions of manhood or summat. It's nothing to worry about. I know a good counselor that has helped several of my clients get their minds back where they belong."

Louis pulls away from her touch, frowning, "I'm not having visions, Vivian. This is me. I'm a man. Always have been." 

Her eyes widen, and she stifles another giggle with her fingertips, "Oh, honey. Do I have to explain human anatomy to you, really? I'd hoped you'd learned that in secondary school." 

That's. It.

Louis' eyes narrow quickly, and he takes another step back from this woman he'd once thought was his friend, his confidant. 

"Fuck you, Vivian," he snarls. Julie's gasp echoes over to them from the bar, punctuating the shock on Vivian's pale face.

Not waiting for a reply, he turns on his heel and stalks to the exit, the slaps made by the soles of his shoes against the floor the only sound in the nearly empty café. He opens the door, the tiny silver bell at the top dinging petulantly, then looks back, anger and sadness mixing on his face.

"For the record," he pronounces, his voice controlled and condescending, "I aced my anatomy class. And you, my friend, are the biggest dick I've ever seen." 

With that, he breezes out, letting the door shut on fish-mouthing Julie, a cold, untouched cup of tea, and his former agent, who looks like she's just eaten the sourest lemon. 

Outside, the snow has finally begun to fall. 

\-----

The first part of the plane ride to Doncaster is a heady mix of panic and second-guessing. After Vivian's reaction to his announcement, he's begun to notice every double-take and scowling mother whispering judgement about him to her child. He's been trying to get out more and more over the past few days, associating himself with how it feels to enter a place as Louis. Unfortunately, everyone's face became Vivian's, and not just in his dreams. He's afraid his mother's will too.

He tries to read to calm his nerves, but the person across the aisle keeps  _staring_. Eventually he's forced to lower his book and glare in their direction, raising an eyebrow. The boy sheepishly glances away, his hands clasping firmly in his lap. Louis sighs. It's going to be a very long flight.

Out the window, flakes stop and start, smattering the plexiglass with melting polka-dot shimmer. Watching the spectacle, his eyes grow tired, so he tucks his book in the space between him and the armrest and pulls his phone and a pair of earbuds from his pocket. He shoves the soft nubs in his ears, picking a quiet Kodaline tune, and rests his head against the back of the seat. His bangs, undone today, fall over his eyes in threads of caramel. He makes no move to push them away. 

As sleep works to take over him, he starts to think lightly about his family. He really hasn't tried to communicate with them in a long while. He'd heard news that his mum had remarried, but he hadn't gone to the wedding. He hopes the man's nice. Better than the last, at least. Divorces were fast becoming a trend in his family, and he didn't know how many more his sisters would take before skipping out as quickly as he had. 

He misses all his sisters more than anything, but Lottie especially. She was closest in age to him (16 now) and, while being cheeky as hell, had supported him nearly as much as Zayn had. After he left, she was the only one that really tried to keep in touch, texting him everyday, even if it was just to tell him goodnight. He misses her sunny blue eyes and wide smile, her gentle shoulder-punches when he made a smart quip. She'll probably ignore him for a while when he arrives, due to his lack of contact, but he's sure she'll get over it in due time. Most likely.

The woman sat next to him shifts in her seat, her elbow knocking against his. He quickly withdraws his arms from the armrests and slumps down further, exhaling through his nose. The song in his ears switches to something brighter, and his mind begins to shut down, dreams flickering past the backs of his eyelids like a movie reel-- stuttering at first before settling into a steady stream of colors and shapes. 

The next thing he knows he's waking to the plane bumping over wind currents. He pops his earbuds out of his ears and is met with crackling reassurances of a speedy touchdown pouring from the overhead speaker. The snow has picked up some, blowing frozen white along the airplane's outstretched wings. Around him, the other passengers are collecting their things, and a muted chatter fills the cabin. 

He wraps the cord of the earbuds around his phone and returns the bundle to his pocket, sitting up straighter while the faint whine of the landing gear being lowered bleeds into the holes in the conversation surrounding him. He glances at the woman next to him. She's sliding a laptop back into its case, and when she catches his eye, she smiles, causing laugh lines to crinkle around her eyes. 

"Nice nap, love?" she asks warmly, her voice matching the hush of the snow.

He nods, smiling shyly and tucking his hands into the ends of his sleeves, forming soft paws. 

She leans closer and the curls of her graying hair smell like roses, "Best flight I've had in a while, if I'm being honest. Smooth sailing all the way." 

"Isn't sailing for boats?" he answers before he can stop himself, but though a blush is warming his face she simply chuckles and pats his knee.

"Quick wit. I like that." 

"Thanks," he replies, turning a little to face her better. 

"By the way," her voice has quieted some, as if she's about to share a secret, "I think your hair is marvelous."

"Really?" he touches his bangs, looking at her with some suspicion. She nods sincerely, her smile honest.

He drops his hand and begins to fiddle with the end of his jumper, "I-I did it myself." 

"Well, I hope you're considering a career in it then. I haven't had a good hairdresser in ages," she fluffs her hair while she says it, as if proving her point. 

He leans his head back against the seat, grinning, "I think your hair looks fine, ma'am. Proper sophisticated."

She squeezes his arm endearingly, "You're sweet to say so."

He's about to inquire after her name when the cabin suddenly lurches upward, signaling that they've landed. The pilot confirms it over the loudspeaker, adding "Welcome to Doncaster-Sheffield." 

After a minute the seat belt light turns off with a small ding, and passengers begin to retrieve their carry-ons from the overhead bins. Louis says his goodbyes to the woman, who wishes him a happy Christmas before exiting the aircraft, her laptop in tow. 

He waits for others to pass by, taking in faces he knows he'll probably never see again. He's a little afraid to leave. Once he's off the plane, he'll be back in a place he used to know. Back  _home_. He's not sure if he's ready for that yet. 

The cabin clears quickly, though, and soon the flight attendants are watching him expectantly, waiting to wish him well on his holiday. He takes a moment to remind his lungs what breathing normally is before gathering his baggage and heading out, nodding his thanks to each person he passes. 

He hadn't let any of his family, or Zayn's, know when he was arriving. He wanted to show up on his own time. After all, he still remembers his old address perfectly well. Plus, he wants the surprises to happen away from the public, where he can gauge reactions better than he did with Vivian. That was an embarrassment he'd rather not relive.

He retrieves the rest of his luggage from the baggage claim without any hassle, and walks to the glass doors leading out to Doncaster. Or, an airport pickup lane in Doncaster. Either way, it's overwhelming. White flakes gather into drifts along each curb, and spread thin blankets across the sidewalks and asphalt. It makes the world look a little softer, more welcoming. But he knows that when he steps out, the cold will hit him like knives, and that makes him hesitate for a bit in the warmth of the terminal, simply staring out at the various vehicles that stop and start, picking up and dropping off blurs of people. 

With a sigh, he pulls his phone from his pocket and calls a cab. It's only minutes before the requested car idles up to the walkway, and it's time for him to go. When he slides into the backseat of the car, he's shivering. It could be the chill, or maybe it's nerves. It doesn't matter at this point. 

"Where to, sir?" the driver requests, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.

The formality brings a smile to Louis' lips as he relays his address. The car purrs into life, taking off into the stream of others coming and going, tires slipping slightly on the icy ground. Louis watches out the window, drinking in the familiar surroundings with tired eyes. Inside, though, his heart is swelling. 

Because he's in Doncaster. He's home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holY CRAP THAT WAS A WILD RIDE. I really can't believe we made it through that chapter alive tbh. Anyway, thanks whoever's reading this, I hope you continue to enjoy it. I have a tumblr ([tomlinsavage](http://tomlinsavage.tumblr.com)) if you'd like to chat with me or request to be my beta (which would be awesome). Also, you might hit up my friend ([kinkystyles](http://kinkystyles.tumblr.com)) and thank her for pushing me to write this mess. This probs wouldn't be a thing without her. Have a great week, and good luck if you have finals coming up like me. See you all soon!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reconnecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no beta, but also still writing, so that's a plus. Thanks to [kinkystyles](http://kinkystyles.tumblr.com) again for, just, EVERYTHING. And thanks to [louistomlin-no](http://louistomlin-no.tumblr.com) and [adoredlou](http://adoredlou.tumblr.com) for being absolute babes and giving me the motivation to complete this chapter.

Louis watches the cab pull away from the curb, his luggage hanging from his chilled fingers. Dots of cold speckle his face and dust his shoulders in white. He turns slowly to look up at his house. It's charming, really-- small for his size of family, but that just meant everyone was closer together, used to seeing each other's faces around every turn. He wonders if they've been missing his face all that much. 

He trudges up the steps and sets his bags on the porch to free his hands. He hesitates only a moment before punching the doorbell. 

Muffled sounds begin to pour out to him from behind the door, happy squeals and shouts, then the soft timbre of his mother's voice, calling "Just a minute!" He shuffles a bit, the edges of his lips quirking upward. He can hear feet pounding on the stairs. He always hated how everyone stomped down the stairs, especially in the wee hours of the morning when he was trying to get some much-needed sleep. Now, though, he's kind of looking forward to hearing constant signs of life. His flat was lonely and silent, lacking the comfort that conversational white noise provides. 

The click of the lock being unbolted breaks his thought train, and he snaps his head up, watching as the door creaks inwards. A face pops into view, warm brown eyes framed by glossy brunette tumbles of hair. Louis clasps his hands together tightly, swallowing against the lump that just formed in his throat. The door opens wider, revealing a trim woman, her cheesy Christmas jumper almost slipping off her right shoulder, but deft fingers catch the hem quickly, pulling it back in place. 

Louis studies his mum, Jay, at a loss for words. She looks nearly the same, with maybe a few more wrinkles here and there, and a smattering of gray strands peeking through her rich color. She gapes back at him, equally stunned. Her mouth is open just enough to reveal the tips of her top teeth, and he can hear her breathing. 

She breaks the silence first, her voice low and edged with faint astonishment. 

"Louise?"

He ducks his head, swiping his bangs from his eyes uselessly. His fingers are shaking. He's trying to decide how to start. Is hello enough? He needs to correct the name she used. But he's scared, so very scared. He doesn't want his mum to shut the door in his face. Most of all, though, he doesn't want to disappoint her. 

He glances up again, their eyes connecting, and hers are unreadable. She hasn't let go of the door, and he notices how tightly she's gripping it's frame, as if trying to keep herself upright.

"Hi Mum," he finally stammers, his heart skipping a beat. She still doesn't speak. He watches her carefully and mutters, "Um. Can... will you come outside for a moment?"

Thick tension clouds around them, and his fingertips tap his thigh anxiously. He shouldn't have come home. He should've called first. He's so stupid, so stu-

Without warning, Jay comes barreling out the door, colliding into him with enough force to make him stumble back over a step and nearly fall on his arse. She catches him easily with a crushing embrace, and the air rushes out of him with a strangled "oof!" She chokes out soft sobs into his ear, her face smushed against his shoulder. He belatedly returns the hug, awkwardly patting her back, feeling like a right tit. 

"Mum..." he murmurs, but forgets what he was going to say. Instead of speaking, he tucks his nose into her neck, breathing in her floral perfume. It's mixed with a subdued hint of baking cookies, sugary sweet to match her personality. 

"I'm so glad you're home, love," she whispers, her voice catching a bit, "I missed you. So, so, so much." 

"I missed you too," he replies, equally quiet. 

They sway gently together, ignoring the cold crystals collecting in their hair and clothes, listening to the sounds of each other being here and breathing and alive. 

"I have to tell you something," he finally mumbles against the collar of her jumper, the yarn rough against his lips. 

"You have a lot of somethings to tell me, I think," she returns, but there's no malice in her words. He thanks the gods above for giving him this woman for a mum. He couldn't ask for better. 

She pulls back finally, resting her hands on his shoulders and giving them a squeeze. Her smile is patient as she inspects him, but he can feel her curiosity, can see it growing in her eyes. 

"Do you want to go inside, or?" She begins, and he's already shaking his head forcefully.

"No, I don't want... I need to talk to you first. Before I see the girls." 

She nods, dropping her hands to cross them over her chest, then squints up at the sky, "Well, hang on a tic and let me grab a coat. I'll be right back."

"Okay," he agrees, smiling hesitantly.

She beams in return, stepping backward. Then she stops, moves forward and tugs him into another hug. He relaxes against her with a sigh.

"I'll be just a minute," she says as she lets go, then she hurries inside. She leaves the door at a crack, so yellow light pools out onto the snow-covered porch. He listens intently, hears her firmly instructing his sisters to "stay inside and find something to do." A chorus of groans answers her statement. He giggles into the back of his hand. 

When she slips back out, she's wearing a puffy black coat that nearly swallows her thin frame. She pulls the door shut behind her this time, smirking when she meets his eyes, "Don't want your nosy sisters eavesdropping." He grins in agreement. He won't be surprised if he catches them peeping through the curtains when his mum isn't paying attention.

"So!" she chirps, rubbing her hands together and gazing at him with loving eyes, "What's up, love? I wish you'd called me. We could've hashed things out over the phone." 

He scratches the back of his head with a dry laugh, "We're not 'hashing things out,' Mum. I just..."

His voice fades out as he tries to find a way to tell her, to explain why he made her stand out here in the freezing weather when they should be inside, curling in front of the fire, sharing stories and cups of eggnog. He feels silly, like maybe he's just fishing for attention. Then he remembers seeing himself in the mirror, repeating his name over and over, and how good it felt. How the, the  _rightness_ just burst through his body like popping candy on his tongue, and his hands fist up, pushing half-moon prints into his palms. 

Before he can speak, Jay reaches out and rubs a comforting hand up and down his arm, her smile warm, "Go on, sweet. I'm listening." 

His lips quirk up, and he takes a deep breath before saying, "I... I've changed." 

"I can see that much," she replies, amusement lacing her voice. He grins wryly. 

"It's the hair, innit?" he catches a stray bit, rubbing the soft strands between his fingertips, "I've gone and ruined it."

"Oh no, dear, I think it's lovely! But, um, it's quite short," her eyes look a little pained for a moment, but it quickly fades, replacing with that same affection that she's been wearing since she realized who'd just interrupted her family time. He watches her, noting how her gaze can't seem to stay still, constantly wandering over his hair and down his body as if fascinated. 

"It's meant to be," he says after a minute, then bites his lip. He breathes in through his nose before continuing, "I like it short." 

"Well, then, so do I," she grins, "But I don't think we're out here to talk about hair, Louise." 

"No," he affirms, "We're not. Also, my name is Louis." 

He can tell he's caught her off guard. He almost thought she didn't hear him, but then her eyebrows furrow deeply, creating lines in her forehead.

"Louis?" she questions, tilting her head slightly, "Like, as a nickname?"

"No, Mum," he murmurs, stepping closer and keeping solid eye contact, wanting, _needing_ her to understand, "As a real name. As in, I'm not Louise. I've never been Louise, really. I'm Louis. And I..."  _  
_

He swallows thickly, his throat clicking and his eyelids dropping shut tightly before fluttering back open. Her face is twisted with confusion, but her eyes are open and accepting. It's that faith that's radiating from her that allows him to continue, to once again voice something that's been bottled up inside for years, and now, like a shaken soda, is bursting through the seams. 

"I.. I'm a man, Mum. I'm a man and my name is Louis, and I need you to accept that, if you can. I know it's strange and disappointing and all that, but... this is who I am-- who I've always been. I just haven't been able to show it. Until now that is. Anyway, I... I love you, Mum, and I don't want to upset you, but I have.. I have to be me. I have to try to be happy, and this is how," he exhales slowly, releasing pent-up bubbles of fear and hurt and doubt into the air, enjoying the weightlessness that fills him afterward. 

Throughout his speech, her face changed multiple times so quickly that it was almost comical, and if the situation weren't so serious he might've laughed. But now she looks crumpled, kind of defeated, and his heart sinks in his chest as her features begin to be replaced with Vivian's fiery hair and burning eyes. 

His mouth opens again to blurt apologies and retractions, but her hand raises, and she looks down at her feet. All at once, he sees her age, the way stress and exhaustion has worn on her and turned her smooth skin to tough leather, stiffened her feminine shoulders. He realizes he never considered how much his absence might have affected her. The pain she must've gone through, trying to understand why he didn't call, didn't come home, didn't even attend her wedding... it had to have been torture. And he brought that on her. He formed those wrinkles on his mum's soft cheeks. He hates himself for that. 

When she meets his gaze again, she almost looks relieved, like maybe she'd known what he was going to say. In fact, she smiles, slowly, and visibly relaxes, as if she'd cut the string that had been holding her spine taut as a wire. When she speaks, her voice is welcoming and full of the love that he knows she enjoys smothering her children with. 

"Louis. You know, Louise always  _did_ feel a little wrong," she laughs quietly, reaching out to take Louis' hands and squeeze his fingers, "Baby, why would I be disappointed? I'll tell you, I have a houseful of beautiful daughters behind that door just waiting to be doted on, probably painting their nails and wondering what dress they'll wear for the party. And right here in front of me, I have a gorgeous son."

Louis didn't even see it coming, but he begins to cry, silent tears coursing down his cheeks and mixing with the melted snow on his skin. His mum's hands feel like home, the lines in her palms directly opposite his and warmer than the sun. He smiles through his tears as he stares at her, feeling his chest swell with adoration.

"For years, I've had the joy of watching you grow and learn, but I always wondered when you'd accept yourself," she continues tenderly, "I know you don't think I notice much, but I saw the missing pieces, Lou. I knew you weren't happy. I just... I didn't know what you needed from me to make you happy. Now... well, now I know it wasn't me you needed. It was you, babe. It was Louis."

She brings him in for another tight hug, letting his sobs drench her sleeve, her hand rubbing soothing circles into his back, "Louise was a wonderful daughter, but Louise wasn't real." 

She pulls back to look him deep in the eyes, seeing past the tears and right into his heart, her lips upturned gently, "Louis is real, isn't he?" 

He nods frantically, sniffing. She blinks slowly, and kisses his cheek.

"Then welcome home, Louis, my favorite son."

He laughs, but it sounds more like a cough. She uses the hem of her sleeve to wipe at the tracks on his face.

"Let's go inside, yeah?" she asks softly, "It's bloody freezing out here and I'm afraid the girls have eaten all the biscuits."

"Okay," he croaks, smiling. She bends to grab his luggage, but he shoos her away, gathering it in his own hands. She narrows her eyes at him playfully, but turns to open the door. 

"Louis?" she stops, her hand on the doorknob, and looks back at him.

He blinks up at her, joy warming his insides, "Yeah Mum?"

She beams, "Love you."

"Love you too." 

Then she's pushing the door wide, and he's stepping into his childhood home. When he passes over the threshold, he feels like he's going back in time. He sweeps his gaze along the walls, still that same dingy beige, still covered with family photos. In each one, Louise is hiding in the back behind her sisters, gripping her mum's hand, smiling a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. He wants to stop and examine them, but his mum is bustling on down the hallway, so he follows in stride, making sure to close the door behind them.

 She leads him into the living room, where one girl is spread out on the sofa, languidly watching telly. She looks up when they enter, and her eyes widen enormously. Louis stops moving, feeling skittish. He thought Jay would be the hardest one to tell, but now, looking at one of his sisters, bile crawls up his throat, and he fights against the nausea. Jay uses the brief pause to tug his bags from his hands, carrying them up to deposit them next to his room before hurrying back down, warily eyeing the two siblings.

He forces himself to speak first, rasping out, "Hey, Fizz."

Fizzy (really Felicite, but who has time for formalities?) is a couple years younger than Lottie, but is a dead ringer for his mum with her big chocolate eyes and brown hair, which is currently bundled atop her head in a frizzy topknot. It wobbles when she scrabbles to a sitting position, blubbering, "Louise?  _Louise_?" 

"Louis, actually," Jay chirps before he can even open his mouth, and he turns to gape at her. She's eyeing him, pride radiating from her wide smile. She looks briefly over at Fizzy, who's goggling at Louis like he's just grown another head, and huffs out, "Well don't just sit there, dear. Come give your brother a hug!" 

He watches Fizzy carefully, wishing he could see how the gears are turning in her mind. She slowly swings her legs off the sofa and stands, looking back and forth between him and their mum, mouthing 'brother' with a confused frown. She comes toward him cautiously, and when she's about half a foot away she stops. He bites his lip, worriedly picking at the hem of his shirt. 

They stare at each other for a while, him with slumped shoulders, her with wandering eyes. 

"Is this," she starts, then hesitates a minute, gesturing uselessly with her hand, "Is this for real? You're my brother now?" 

He puts his hands on his knees so he can look her fully in the face, earnestly saying, "Is that okay with you?"

She blinks a few times, then grins, and before he knows it he's wrapped up in someone's arms for the third time that day as she squeals, "Yess! Another one!" 

He hugs her back, but gives Jay a look over her head, mouthing "Another one?"

She beams and mouths back, "You'll see." 

He decides not to push it for now, and instead rests his chin on his sister's head, whispering, "Thanks Fizz." 

"It's Louis, right?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Well, I'm glad you're home Louis. I missed you," and she squeezes him tighter.

He smiles, closing his eyes to say, "I missed you too." 

He jumps when Jay chooses that moment to yell up the stairs, "Girls, come on down! Your brother's here!"

Fizzy giggles and lets him go, stepping back, and from above a jumble of slamming doors and bickering girls rains down. He can't help but snicker when they stumble to the steps, Phoebe in the lead, followed closely by Daisy, who are both shouting and shoving each other. And then Lottie appears, her arms burdened with two swaddled babies, scowling and muttering, "What brother?"

She stops dead in her tracks when she spots Louis, while Phoebe and Daisy come barreling into him, shouting, "Lou! Lou's home!"

"Hullo, sweets," he croons, bending to pull them close. He tickles at their torsos, making them shriek with laughter, "How's my favorite pair?" 

The two speak over each other, vying for his attention, completely oblivious to any change. They may still only be ten each, but they've grown so much it makes tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He wishes he'd been here more often, even just to walk them to school or tuck them in at night. But they harbor no ill will, instead are gazing at him like he's the one that put the sun in the sky. 

Lottie, on the other hand, is still standing at the bottom of the stairs, her lips pursed. Louis straightens again, resting his hands on the twins' shoulders, smiling in her direction. 

"Hey Lotts," he murmurs, the two in front of him growing quiet as everyone directs their attention to Lottie.

She glances around in annoyance, frowning, and snaps, "Stop staring at me." 

"Lottie," Jay warns, her eyebrow raising. 

Lottie sighs and meets Louis' gaze, hers scathing.

"Nice of you to finally come home, Louise," she says, her voice brusque and flippant. 

" _Lottie_ ," Jay says again, this time with more force, "Be nice."

"No, Mum, she's right," Louis remarks, brushing a hand through Daisy's hair as he skirts around the twins to walk closer to the stairs, "I've been a bit of a bastard recently, and it's time I owned up to it."

Jay hisses "Language," but he continues diligently, keeping his eyes on Lottie.

"I'm sorry for not answering your texts. I'm sorry for not calling. I'm sorry for missing the big things, and the little things. And I'm so, so sorry for making the lot of you worry. I never meant to hurt any of you, but... I needed some time to think. And I got it. So now, Lottie, I'm not asking you to forgive me for the wrongs I did, but I  _am_ asking you to accept that I'm here, and that I'm going to try to make it all up to you. And things.. things are going to be different. A lot different." 

Her face softens somewhat, but her eyes are still stone-cold, and she mutters half-heartedly, "You messed up your hair." 

In the background, Jay throws her hands up with a groan of defeat, but Louis' laughing, fluffing his bangs as he agrees, "Yeah, I really did." 

"What's this with Mum calling you our brother?" she inquires, and she actually sounds curious rather than rude. 

Fizzy pipes up for him this time, prancing over and saying, "Louise is Louis now."

Lottie looks from Fizzy to him, quirking an eyebrow, "Louis?"

He nods, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling weakly, "Yeah. I, uh...," he gazes around at the rest of them, taking in Daisy and Phoebe's confused faces, "I'm a man, you understand? I was a man before, just didn't look it. Now I'm going to start changing so I do." 

When he catches Lottie's eye again, she doesn't even look shocked. Instead, she's smirking. 

"Here Mum," she suddenly says, passing the babies to Jay (who takes them though she looks bewildered). Then she moves to stand in front of Louis.

He raises his eyebrows in question, and her smile grows. Without warning, she punches his shoulder hard and shouts, "I knew it!"

He cringes back, rubbing the sore spot, but grinning while she runs from person to person, repeating the phrase and pumping her fists in the air victoriously. The babies wake with building cries, causing Jay to moan, "Inside voices, Lottie!" as she rushes to another room to calm them. Lottie rushes back to yank Louis into a crushing hug, and soon all the girls are surrounding him, tackling him with affection. 

They're all laughing as they squeeze against each other, loud and boisterous, so Louis has to strain to catch Lottie's whispered, "Welcome home, brother." 

He smiles so hard his cheeks hurt, his insides fizzing with happiness. He maneuvers his arms till they've collected each sister against him, his face pressed into Lottie's hair.

"Love you guys," he murmurs, and he feels the words in every hole in his bones, making his body ache. 

"Love you, too," Lottie replies for the whole of them, then pulls back a little to eye him with a false glare and say, "But you're still a twat." 

He laughs, his eyes crinkling, and replies, "I know." 

They break their little huddle, and Lottie shoos the younger girls away, saying "Your brother and I have some catching up to do," and winking in Louis' direction. She leads him to the kitchen, where she grabs a couple fizzy drinks and pops them open, handing one to him. They settle comfortably on the bar stools, watching the others lazing about in the living room as they chat.

Talking with Lottie again is nice. They discuss school, then move into football, which somehow skips over into music. Her animated gestures and bright eyes fill up this hole that he hadn't known had formed somewhere in his lungs, and when he breathes it doesn't hurt as much anymore. It almost seems as if they're relationship is stronger despite his absence, sometimes finishing each other's sentences, and laughing when they don't quite. It's as Louis is determinedly proclaiming that The Killers is one of the most revolutionary bands of their generation that Jay pops her head around the doorway and calls, "Louis, love? Would you like to meet the babies?"

Louis freezes mid-sentence, and nods vigorously when he meets her eyes. She grins and signals him to follow her. He stands quickly, then glances at Lottie, uncertain. She smiles and waves her hand at him, "Go on! You'll love them. They're the sweetest little poo makers." 

He chuckles and says, "Be right back," as he plods from the room behind his mum. 

They enter Jay's bedroom, a cozy space that is mostly taken up by a queen-sized bed and two side-by-side cots stationed in the corner by the chest of drawers. Leaning over the railings, he spots the two little ones, cooing and wiggling. Jay comes up beside him and places her hand on the back of his arm, smiling.

"Twins?" he asks, his voice soft as he watches the babies, feeling a sort of sadness sink his stomach to the floor as he realizes just how much he's missed.

"Yes," she replies. She reaches toward one of them with her free hand, and little fingers latch onto her pinky tightly, "A boy and a girl. Or, Ernest and Doris."

"Beautiful," he declares, gripping tightly to the cots, "How old?" 

"A year in February," she answers, "And if you're wondering where father is, he's still at work. He should be home soon."

Her head turns in his direction, and though she doesn't look at him, he can see the frown on her lips. 

"I... I really do wish you'd been here for the wedding. Did you get the invitation?"

He stares at the baby he assumes is Ernest, wrapped in blue cloth. He doesn't understand why colors have to be associated to genders from birth. He hates pink. 

"Yes," he murmurs finally, his throat tight, "But I didn't open it."

Jay sighs, but he rushes on, trying to explain himself, "I mean, I wanted to. And I had planned on coming. Zayn sent me the date so I put it in my schedule. Then the week rolled around and... well, anything I'd say would be an excuse wouldn't it? I guess I'm going to be apologizing all night."

He lets out a dry laugh and grows quiet. He's got to be the shittiest son on the planet. Two of the most important events to his mum, and he skipped out on them like he was running from debt collectors. His avoidance of his family was so obvious that Vivian thought perhaps there had been a falling out between them, and would often warn new acquaintances not to bring up parents. "He's got family problems," she'd whisper, glancing at him sympathetically. Thinking about it made him feel sick. 

Jay's hand moves to his back, rubbing up and down soothingly, making his skin prickle. 

"He's really very nice, you know," she murmurs, tilting her head forward to meet his eyes, and giving him a small smile, "I know you worry about the men I choose, but I promise this one's good."

He exhales a thin stream of air through his pursed lips, glancing away, "I don't want to see you hurt again, Mum. You thought Mark was nice too, and he was a shit." 

"Language, Lou!" she stutters on the name, cutting it off abruptly. He can't help but notice, and she raises a hand to knead her forehead, seeing the frustration on his face, "I'm sorry. It's something to get used to."

"I know," he whispers. He strokes a finger over Ernest's face, who's fallen fast asleep, breath puffing out in soft exhales. Then he twists around to face Jay, leaning against the cots. She looks up at him, and when they make eye contact, the edges of his lips quirk up in understanding, "You're not the only one adjusting. Trust me." 

She smiles and opens her mouth to reply, but just then the sound of a door opening echoes to them, followed by muffled shouting and commotion in the living room. Jay's eyes brighten, and she says, "Dan's home." 

She bustles around Louis, and he follows at a leisurely pace, watching her hair billow as she rushes down the hallway ahead of him. Lottie meets them halfway, grinning at Louis and bumping his shoulder. He chuckles under his breath, then steps back to let her in the lead. From the entrance, he can hear a booming voice greeting, "There's my girls! Come give me a big hug!" 

When he reaches the end of the hallway, he stops. Around the corner, his family is all together, like they've been for 3 years now, happy. Doubt creeps like a shadow over his confidence, makes him wonder if coming home was the right choice. They're fine without him, really. He'll just be in the way, the sore thumb on the otherwise perfect hand. He unconsciously steps back, stuffing his hands in his pockets. But then, what is he going to do, sneak out the window? 

"Right," he says in an undertone, rolling his eyes to himself.

"Louis?" his mum's voice calls, and his head snaps up in response, but he doesn't reply.

"Louis," she repeats, a tone in her voice that he recognizes as her way of saying 'don't make me come over there' without really saying it.

He closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath, holding it for a minute. Moment of truth. It's going to be a Mark repeat, or it's going to be a normal happy father/son interaction. He opens his eyes and turns the corner.

Dan smiles when he sees him, and he's younger than Louis expected, with warm brown eyes and dirty blonde hair carefully quiffed. He's got his arms wrapped around the girls, Jay leaning her head against his neck with eyebrows raised in Louis' direction. She gestures at Louis and says, "Dan, this is Louis, my oldest son."

If Dan's surprised, he doesn't show it, though Louis' sure he's full of questions. He doesn't ask them, instead extracts himself from the women to step forward.

Louis holds his hand out for a shake, "Nice to meet you, sir."

It turns out it's Louis' turn to be shocked. WIthout warning, Dan blows off the outstretched hand and heaves Louis in for a hug. So many hugs today, Louis muses, patting Dan's back heartily. He's probably received more hugs on this day than he has in his whole lifetime. 

Dan moves back to clutch Louis at arm's length, eyeing him with an open face, "There'll be no sirs in this house. While I'd prefer Dad, I'm fine with Dan." 

He claps Louis' shoulder before releasing him to tuck his hands into his suit pockets, "Glad to finally meet you Louis. I'm sure we'll get along fine."

"Depends," Louis says, raising an eyebrow cheekily, "Who's your favorite footie team?"

"Oh, Rovers, of course," Dan replies, nodding gravely, though amusement laces his features.

Louis grins, then awkwardly snags Dan's hand from his pocket for a fast shake anyway, making the older man laugh as Louis gushes, "Oh yes! I think we'll be fast friends, lad." 

They all herd into the living room, plopping down on various pieces of furniture while Jay maneuvers to the kitchen, saying something about being hungry. Conversation starts out a little choppy, as everyone is suddenly shy and unsure of how to react around one another. But as the smell of cooking drifts through the air, it picks up, and soon the room is filled with the sounds of laughter and pleasant chatter. Louis hadn't expected to fit back into family life so easily, but when his mum calls from the kitchen for everyone to come eat, he's shoving past his sisters with gusto, shouting, "Oldest first! Tossers last!" 

This, of course, earns the normal sharp cry of reproach from Jay, protests from the girls, and a new voice, Dan's, saying, "Technically, I'm the oldest, tosser!" 

It's strange, because he doesn't feel so fragile anymore, like a fancy object everyone's so afraid to break they won't even look at it. No, it's like he never left, like he's been here, pulling Fizzy's hair and stealing food from Lottie's plate while throwing empty insults at Dan, for his whole life.

Most of all, it's home. His flat was nice, but it was just another temporary place, like a hotel room. This is where he's meant to be, surrounded by those he loves. And when they look into his eyes and call him Louis, or brother, or son, he knows they love him too. Which is all he could ask for, really. All he's ever been asking for. He just didn't realize it was waiting for him all along. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, um, okay. I apologize if this chapter is kind of messy and annoying, but it needed to be here. Also, if you're like "what the hec k whERE IS HARRY" trust me, it's getting close now. Probably next chapter. Um.  
> I would still like a beta to kind of guide me and stuff, so if you're interested, let me know here or on my [tumblr](http://tomlinsavage.tumblr.com). Also, while you're on tumblr, check out these fantastic blogs [a](http://kinkystyles.tumblr.com), [b](http://louistomlin-no.tumblr.com), and [c](http://adoredlou.tumblr.com). Thanks for reading, please stick with me! I really want an actual story to come out of this.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reconnecting: Part II, and new connections.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahaaaaa why am i still writing this i really don't like myself right now ops

Even with the outstanding reception he received from his family, he needed a few days before he was ready to face Zayn's. He'd forced his mum to promise not to let anyone know he was back yet. Word spread fast in his town, so much so that an accidental whisper in the wrong shop could have everyone calling to check in. So, instead, they all stayed cuddled inside their home, sequestered from the outside world. All but Dan, of course, who would be working until just before Christmas Eve. When Louis had confronted him about keeping his presence quiet, Dan had grinned and made a zipping motion over his mouth, saying, "Not a peep will come from me, lad." 

For the past few days he's just been helping out around the house and spending time. The girls are already out of school for the holidays, so they're constantly begging for his attention, whether it be to chat, to make a mess in the kitchen, or to curl up in front of a familiar Christmas film. He's also been slowly working to make up for lost time. He babysits when Jay seems overwhelmed, often times falling asleep with Doris and Ernest heavy on his chest. He does his share of the chores (except for taking out the garbage, in case wandering eyes are watching). Sometimes he's even allowed to tuck the younger girls in at night. Fizzy rejects his attempts, complaining that she's "much too old for baby stuff," but Pheebs and Daisy are all too happy to let him snuggle their duvets up to their chins. Lottie-- well, when he sets foot in her room with a smirk, he's bombarded with pillows and cries of, "Piss off!"

He's enjoying it so much that he sort of forgets about everything else, getting lost in being lazy and snoozing on the sofa at odd hours of the day. So when he walks into the kitchen one morning and is met with a rather standoffish mum, all he can assume she's upset about is the fact that he didn't get up to change Doris and Ernest's nappies when they'd screamed their lungs out at the pleasant hour of 4:30 a.m. He skirts around Jay, eyeing her with uncertainty before pushing himself up to settle on top of the counter with a yawn.

"In this house, we don't sit where we prepare food," she gripes, waving him off. He grins and moves easily, opening the cabinet to pull a teacup out, along with his tin of Yorkshire tea. He fills a kettle with water and goes to put it on the stove to boil, but finds Jay blocking his path. He raises an eyebrow and steps forward anyway. She leans toward the movement, frowning. 

"What is it, Mum?" he sighs, "I just want a cuppa. Is that too much to ask?"

"Go see Zayn.  _Today_." she demands, her arms crossed over her chest.

Groaning, Louis looks to the ceiling with the largest eyeroll he can muster. So _that's_ what this is about. He starts to move around her again, but she stops him with hand on his front. He meets her pointed look, disinterest in his.

"Louis," she scolds, "You've been avoiding him for a week now. He's going to find out you're here sooner or later, and if it isn't from you he's going to be in a right strop."

"I know," Louis grumbles, rubbing his eyes with his free hand, "It slipped my mind is all."

She snorts, pulling away and allowing him to pass her, "More like you forced it to."

He sighs, clattering the kettle onto the stove and turning the hob on underneath it before swiveling around to watch Jay crack a couple eggs into a bowl.

"Pancakes?" he questions, half as an attempt to change the subject, half actually interested.

"Yes," she answers, pointing at the cabinets without looking, "Will you grab the flour, please, love?"

He obliges, also picking up the sugar and milk along the way, knowing she'll need both. He sets them down close to her hands, where she can reach them easily, and moves to leave the room. She stops him with a hand on his shoulder, and he looks back, meeting wide pleading eyes.

"Just go see Zayn, yeah? He's the most understanding bloke I know, and I know you," she says seriously.

He smirks, but nods weakly and leans in to kiss her cheek, "I'll go today."

She smiles, her face brightening, "Good."

He pulls away and walks to the door, anxious to wake his sisters noisily as he's been prone to do recently, when she calls, "And Lou?"

"Yeah?" he replies, not turning this time, instead continuing his forward motion.

"I'm proud of you," her voice reaches him, and he inhales quickly, feeling a fondness warm his stomach. He doesn't respond, but he knows his mum will receive the love radiating from him. She has a knack for knowing how her children are feeling.

\-----

 Louis stands at the door to Zayn's house, wrapped up in an overly large hoodie and trackies, the hood pulled to cover his face. Maybe he'd been hiding from Zayn this whole time, but he was also hiding from the overbearing community that they resided in, and he didn't plan on changing that any time soon. Not that he wasn't a little afraid to be changing the Zayn part of that equation, but. No going back now.

He rolls up onto the balls of his feet and pushes the doorbell, his nerves tingling in time with the muffled ringing reverberating inside the house. He hears a few voices, and a lot of shuffling. Then the door's opening, and there's Trish, Zayn's mum. Her black hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she's rubbing floury hands against a white apron. She squints at the person in front of her, frowning a little as she asks, "Can I help you?"

He wants to just stand and stare for a moment, but the longer he goes in silence the more fidgety Trish gets, suspicion etching into the lines on her face. With a stifled sigh, he cautiously removes his hood and looks up, an anxious smile making his lips twitch. He can see the way emotions shift her features, from shock to anger to affection, which is where the spectacle ends. 

"Louise?" she whispers, reaching out to touch his face as if to make sure she's not dreaming.

"Please," he replies softly, tucking his hands into his hoodie pockets, "Call me Louis." 

She looks confused for a moment, and her mouth opens to probably blurt out her version of 20 questions, but he holds up a hand to stop it before it begins. 

"I'll explain later," he murmurs, then glances behind her, "Is Zayn home? Can I talk to him first?"

"Oh," she breathes, and it sounds slightly disappointed, but she nods, "Yes. He's upstairs with the girls. I'll pop in and get him."

"Trish, wait," he calls, putting a hand out as if to stop her. She turns back to him, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. He smiles gently at her and says, "I'm sorry I haven't been around, and I'm sorry that when I'm finally here I'm asking for Zayn. But I really need to... to fix things. And for now it has to start with Zayn. I promise I'll let you know next." 

She hesitates for a moment, looking at him skeptically. Then she walks forward and pulls him into a warm, motherly hug, her arms tight around his shoulders. He hugs her back just as snugly.

"There's no need to apologize to me, Louise. Louis," she murmurs, and his heart lifts at her attentiveness, "I always had faith that you were doing what was right."

Then she draws back quickly, and her eyes are narrowed, "But if you hurt my boy, I'll hurt you."

He laughs nervously and nods, "I'll try not to."

She smiles and retreats a little. She looks him over one more time, making him shuffle uncomfortably under her sharp gaze. Then, with a parting nod, she bustles inside, disappearing into the kitchen, calling, "Zayn! Someone at the door for you!"

Louis examines the foyer tentatively, his ears catching soft snippets of Christmas songs pouring out from somewhere in the home. By the door are scattered pairs of shoes. He can automatically tell which are Zayn's-- a pair of scuffed black boots, the undone laces settled in twisting patterns over smaller, more feminine trainers huddled up on either side of them. The rugs on the tiled floor are surprisingly clean, with only a few dirt smears dotting the otherwise pure blue threads. It takes a while before the sound of feet pounding down the staircase trails out to him, but when he hears a familiar gravelly Bradford-thick voice calling, "Who is it?" he brings his attention up quickly.

Zayn comes into view soon enough, swinging around the bannister to face the entrance, and before he spots Louis he's smiling as much as Zayn will ever smile-- meaning, the edges of his lips are just noticeably raised. Yet when they make eye contact, he's quick to lose his bright demeanor, opting instead for a scowl. He slows his pace, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets, and stops a few feet from the door. Louis' throat closes, making it hard to breathe. Zayn's different. His hair's shorter, and dyed white on the tips, the color a stark contrast to the jet black of the roots. He's got black frames resting on the bridge of his nose, making his whiskey-colored eyes just a bit bolder. He'd always been striking, but now it's more subtle, more devil-may-care. His worn band shirt is splattered with paint, the denim below sporting it as well. The brisk air is suddenly numbing, and he feels paralyzed in place. 

"Louise," Zayn murmurs nonchalantly, but there's anger in his tone. Louis expected nothing less.

"Louis, actually," he replies, trying to sound just as casual, but even he can hear the quavering of his vocal chords.

Zayn doesn't say anything after that, but his eyebrow raises, and he gives Louis a quick once-over. He crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his hip, blinking back to Louis' gaze. Louis rolls words around in his mouth, trying to find ones worth spewing.

"Um," he starts gracefully, of course, choosing the perfect one.  _Bloody idiot_ , he thinks to himself.  _  
_

"It's been a while," Zayn says, implying that he'd very much like an explanation as to why. 

To be quite honest, Louis' a little tired of saying the same explanation over and over again to different faces.

"Has it?" Louis asks, and if he sounds snarky it's only because he tends to get annoyed by Zayn's vague attempts at questions.

"Don't be a shit," Zayn snaps back, and he looks ready to slam the door in Louis' face.

Sighing, Louis runs thin fingers through his limp hair, meeting Zayn's gaze apologetically. Zayn's lips are still firmly pursed though, unrelenting in his temper.

"Look," Louis tries again, "I didn't plan to ignore everyone when I moved. In fact, I was excited to have everyone come see my new flat and job and everything. But then things got mixed up, I got confused. I guess you could say I lost myself."

"Seemed like you'd lost your phone," Zayn snorts, but there's no humour in it. Louis nods weakly.

"Yeah, I'm sure it did. I really am sorry about all that. But things.. look, I'll just come out with it, cos I can see you thinking I've gone off the deep end by the way you're staring at my hair."

Zayn rips his eyes from Louis' hair, narrowing them and opening his mouth, but Louis has to rush on now. The adrenaline is pumping through his veins with the thought of finally, _finally_ opening up to his best friend.

"Zayn, I don't want to be Louise. I tried, I really did. I went through the whole modeling thing and put on a happy face but no matter what I did it didn't fit right. So I'm gonna try something different. I'm gonna be Louis. That's why the hair and the," he gestures at his body lamely, "The stuff. Sorry if it makes things weird." 

He shuts up abruptly, not sure where to go from there, and eyes Zayn hopefully. The man in front of him gives no indication of his emotion, his face unreadable. Louis even finds himself searching for sweat dotting his scruffy mustache. Who is he kidding? Zayn never sweats. 

"So," Zayn eventually says, his voice low and languid, blinking weary eyes, "How long have you been thinking about this?"

Louis scratches the back of his head, "Honestly? All my life. But I guess it really started affecting me more in uni."

Zayn sighs, his head drooping. Louis watches him, fighting the urge to spit word vomit all over the clean rugs. Out of all people, he wants Zayn to understand. He  _needs_ Zayn to understand. Mainly because Zayn is typically the only one who does, the only one to take the time to hear all his problems aired out until the settling dust is nearly choking them. They've fought more times than Louis can count, but it's only served to bring them closer.  _Partners in crime_ Trish and Jay tend to dub them, and if only they knew how accurate that statement was. After all, they'd shared more than a few secret blunts in their lifetime, leaving Zayn's car smelling only faintly musty. 

At last Zayn returns his gaze to Louis', his mouth twisted in a sort of grimace. The sight of it makes Louis' hope plummet to his feet so quickly his knees almost buckle. He sees that Zayn is trying to decide how to respond, so he waits patiently if not anxiously. 

"Louis, yeah?" is all he gets out.

Louis nods stiffly.

It's quiet again, Zayn hemming a bit, rolling on his feet. 

He shuffles forward a few steps, making Louis flick his eyes up to watch him with curiousity. Out of nowhere, he rushes forward and grabs Louis' shoulders, shaking him slightly roughly, growling, "Why didn't you tell me, arsehole?!"

"I'm sorry," Louis whines, smiling and grasping Zayn's elbows to keep his balance, "I was going to!"

"When?" Zayn huffs, stilling but not removing his firm grip, "After the sun blew up? When we're both rolling in our graves?"

Louis cackles, and Zayn's doing his smirk again, so he knows everything's good.

"When you told me you were gay," he admits shyly, "That's when I was gonna say it."

"Oh I see," Zayn mutters seriously, nodding, "So this is all a ploy to get in my pants. I knew that was your goal all along, you wanker."

"Sod off!" Louis crows amidst fits of barking laughter, smacking Zayn's arm, "You're not even fit."

"Now I  _know_ you're lying," Zayn drones, but there's laughter pouring from him just the same, and Louis can't resist dragging him into a hug that if any tighter could kill them both probably.

"Why'd you have to go away for so long?" Zayn murmurs in his ear, patting his back, "You left me here to drown in over-mothering." 

"Don't worry, I'm already getting the share I missed," Louis jokes back, and when they draw away they're both grinning. 

"You staying the night then?" Zayn asks, but really it's more of a statement, because Louis' already nodding.

"'Course," he affirms, rubbing his hands together, "But can we move this inside? It's a bit chilly."

"Sure," Zayn agrees, and proceeds to pull Louis by the sleeve, not bothering with the wide open door, though Louis turns back to push it shut.

"You've got to see my room," Zayn gushes, and though he's merely loping along, Louis' struggling to keep up with him, "Mum finally let me paint it my way. It's sick."

"I bet."

They blunder up the stairs, and when Trish peeks out from the kitchen, Louis makes eye contact and shrugs. She grins and shakes her head, so he knows she's willing to wait to hear his story. He's actually rather thankful for that-- he's tired of talking, is looking forward to chilling with his best friend for a while. 

Zayn's quick to shove him into his room, nearly slamming the door shut behind them. Louis takes a few steps in, then stops, gaping around in awe. It's so very  _Zayn_ , with colorful graffiti art gracing every nook and cranny, from a strikingly realistic Batman to Zayn's name spray-painted four different ways. There's parts that are obviously half-done, and even a section that's taped off with only a few paint strokes inside. The ceiling is spattered with white-on-black, like stars against a pitch sky. 

"Whaddya think?" Zayn inquires, clapping his hand on Louis' shoulder as he comes up next to him.

"You were right. It  _is_ sick."  _  
_

Zayn grins, pushing past Louis to flop on his bed. Louis almost follows, then hesitates, suddenly uncertain. It's not like he and Zayn haven't crowded together on one bed before, but.. it's different now, of course. Everything's different. And he's not sure if Zayn is okay with the different yet. He's just bending his knees to go criss-cross on the floor when Zayn shouts, "Oi!"

He looks up, meeting the piercing question in Zayn's eyes.

"I don't smell, do I?" Zayn jokes, propping himself up on his elbow.

Relieved, Louis breathily laughs and rushes over, plopping down hard enough to make the bed bounce Zayn into the air a little.

"'Course you do, but I can handle it."

"Twat!" Zayn smirks, thumping Louis' forearm with his index finger, "You do realize I'm going to have to return your Christmas presents?"

"I doubt you've even bought me any yet," Louis replies dryly, resting his chin on his arms and staring at the wall. 

"Even if you were right I wouldn't tell you," Zayn says matter-of-factly, "But now I'm going to have do some research, yeah?"

Louis shrugs as best he can laying down, turning his head so that his cheek smushes in while he looks at Zayn, "'S up to you really. I mean, I did a lot of research to get to this point. It was... well there was one night where I nearly went insane trying to figure out if this was the best thing for me or not. But now it feels okay." 

"If it helps, you look a lot happier," Zayn murmurs, his eyes wide and honest.

"I am," Louis answers, and he feels it deep in his gut.

The night goes on and they continue their slow chatter, feeling those bonds that were unravelling carefully tie themselves together again. The sun pours oranges and purples over them as it sinks down into sleep, and the moon replaces its stead, filtering white beams that catch and dance among Zayn's drawings. Louis gets a text from his mum, just reminding him to come home early tomorrow morning to watch the babies for her. He didn't even have to tell her he was spending the night at Zayn's, but he's sure it was easy to assume. 

Eventually they trot downstairs to share tea with the rest of the family, and Louis voices his story once more. After a few questions, the subject's dropped easily, as if they had just been chatting about his day at school. However, he does notice their quickness at picking up his pronouns, and when Safaa accidentally lets a 'Louise' slip, she corrects it affably, and they all move on. He can't fight the smile that rests on his face for the entire evening, causing welcome aches under his cheekbones. 

Later, when he's curled up next to Zayn, the darkness of the room settling on his eyelids and pushing them closed, he softly whispers, "Thank you." 

He's not really sure why he says it, or if Zayn even heard it amidst the sleepiness that suffocates the air, but he feels a hand wrap around his wrist and squeeze tight, and that's all the answer he needs. 

\-----

"It's too big."

Louis' pouting at the full-length mirror, tugging at the cuffs of the starched dark blue suit he's donning, experiencing a little more dysphoria than usual. This art showcase is going to be his first major fancy event as himself, and though Zayn found a rather fantastic suit for him to borrow, he's seeing how soft his facial structure is, how thin his neck looks compared to Zayn's, and he wants to stay home and cry. 

Zayn plods up to stand next to him, looking quite dapper in his charcoal jacket and trousers, tightening the black tie round his neck. He furrows his brow, giving the vision in the mirror a quick once over before saying, "It's fine, actually. Nearly perfect. You look great."

"It's too big," Louis repeats petulantly, pulling at the knees of the trousers so that the creased bottoms straighten, "See?" 

"That's how it's  _supposed_ to look, Louis," Zayn sighs, stepping in front of him to fiddle with the collar of his white button up, "Stop worrying, alright? It's all good." 

Louis huffs out a shaky breath, his fingers now fidgeting in his hair. Zayn's quick to grab them and pull them back down, raising an eyebrow, "You're going to get it all greasy and then the gel won't hold."

"Well fix it already! I look like a girl!" His voice cracks on the last word, and the tears that have been swimming behind his eyes threaten to spill over the edge. 

It's quiet for a minute, then Zayn's hands are smoothing over Louis' shoulders, and his dark eyes are staring into Louis' blues. 

"Is that what this is about, love? You not feeling right?" His voice is warm and gentle, prodding for answers but feather-light.

Louis nods, swallowing hard. When his throat closes he's afraid it won't open up again, but it does, pushing breath in and out. Zayn moves his hands to Louis' neck, outlining his face with his fingers.

"Louis, you look proper manly, alright? Probably more-so than me, what with this dyed hair shit I've got going on," his words are serious, but it brings a blubbery chuckle out of Louis anyway.

"I want you to stay close to me tonight. I'll introduce you to my friends, if you want, or we can just chill near my artwork. Wherever you're comfortable. Your mum will be there, so whenever you want to go home you can. Is that okay? Make you feel better?" there's almost a pleading undertone in Zayn's voice, and it reminds Louis that he's still understanding this too, that he's not the only one going through a change. 

So he nods, and hugs Zayn tightly, letting him know that just like everything else in their life, they're together in this. When Zayn's response is to hold him closer, he knows he got the message across. 

"Alright," Zayn scowls, pushing Louis away, but there's a smile in his eyes, "Let's get your hair done before Mum starts bugging us about the time, yeah?"

"Okay," Louis says.

Before they make their way to the washroom, he takes one last look at himself in the mirror. He sees the strong jawline beneath the feminine pudge, and the way his suit doesn't catch on his chest like it would've before. He breathes out, breathes in. He smiles.

\-----

When they reach the school building where the showcase is taking place, the sun is already setting again, making the sky look like a finished canvas, filled with streaks of rich color. They drop Zayn off before parking, since he still has to go get his pieces set up the way he wants them in his space. Louis walks to the building surrounded by family-- his and Zayn's, mixing naturally, Trish and Jay bringing up the rear with gossip on their lips. He straightens his jacket with a self-conscious tug to his lapels. Thankfully this is taking place at Zayn's uni, so there won't be a lot of familiar faces. He gets to put off acclimating back into small-town life another day. 

A student greets them when they step inside, offering each of them a pamphlet with information on the different pieces and their artists. Louis gazes round with eyes big as saucers, drinking in the colors and sounds that fill the large lobby area. He's never seen so many different artistic tastes in one room, and what's amazing is they don't even clash with each other, instead seem to support and bring out the best in each piece. Whoever drew out this set-up deserves some kind of reward.

"Zayn's over there," he hears Trish say, watching as she points to the general area while staring at her pamphlet, "Somewhere in the back, I think."

The group follows her sharp heel clicks on the smooth marble tile, and he notices he's not the only one fascinated by the scene laid out before them. Lottie's gawking at a flowing statue of a mermaid, while Doniya, Zayn's oldest sister, pulls away from the crowd to speak with the creator of a giant landscape painting of the Thames. Quiet classical music is cascading from speakers overhead, filling the spaces between the artwork and providing a sense of calm to the space. 

They reach Zayn's set-up quickly, and he welcomes them with a wide grin and a sweep of his arm, as if to say "I did this." Louis examines the pieces and can instantly tell it's true. There's a tall painting of grey-blue rain falling around a drenched pack of cigarettes in the left corner, and to the right is a small, twisted sculpture depicting hands and lips colliding. Behind him is another painting, this one of Zayn himself, with his head down and headphones around his neck against a black background with tinges of smeared dark red. 

"They're gorgeous, Zaynie," Louis compliments, walking over to drop his arm on Zayn's shoulder. 

"Thanks, Lou," Zayn replies in a coo, and Louis just stops an outstretched hand from mussing his hair.

"Watch it! You took much too long on this for you to go and mess it up," he quips, and Zayn laughs. 

"I only took so long because you wouldn't fucking sit still!"

"Zayn, language!" Trish shushes suddenly, making the boys grin secretly to each other. 

"Why don't you explain your art to us, love?" Jay asks, clasping her hands together in front of her with a bright smile on her face.

"Alright," Zayn drawls, then moves to start with the sculpture.

Louis can't help it, but he ends up tuning him out, his eyes wandering again instead. There's students milling about everywhere, some artists and some not. He notices a couple people with their hands full of paper cups and plates of biscuits, and considers going to find this hidden refreshment table. He tucks his hands into his pockets and starts the trek, hoping no one notices his departure. Thankfully, he makes it away from the group without a scold. 

The shiny black dress shoes he's wearing make unpleasantly loud taps on the floor, and are a little tight around his toes. Perhaps he's too used to going barefoot these days, relishing in the contact of cold hardwood against the skin of his soles. They won't be staying here long though, so he'll be able to go back to that soon enough. His mum wanted to be home when Dan got off work. He's a little upset that Dan couldn't join them, but he understands. Work once consumed his life as well, but with Dan it's different-- he's providing for a home, for his children and wife. Louis was just providing for himself and his bad habits. The muscles in his tense back relax as he's reminded that bit of his life is over. Now he can focus on creating something new. He's like these artists, armed with buckets of paints to tackle a blank canvas and make it a masterpiece. 

After a while of going in erratic circles, he finally catches sight of the concession table and makes a beeline for it. He's eyeing the various biscuits laid out on platters when something in his periphery sparks his attention. He stops and turns toward the painting, his nose wrinkling as he examines it.

He knew coming to an art show he'd see something that didn't speak to him, but this piece is rather horrid. It's a simple square canvas, but it's drenched in oranges and browns that mix in places to create a thick ugly color that he can't even name. On top of this background are triangles of differing sizes and colors, all threatening to make his eyeballs bleed. He wants to look away, get back to his mission of collecting way more food than he's planning on eating, but he's drawn to the wretchedness, making him unwittingly take a few steps forward to tilt his head at it in confusion. What was this artist going for? Sick on a bed of rotting carrots? 

"Like it?" a voice behind him drawls, surprising Louis enough to make him jump beneath his skin. 

He doesn't turn around as he replies, putting a finger to his lips and cocking his hip, "Actually, it's quite revolting. I'm trying to decide if it's the worst or second-worst painting I've seen in me life."

"What?" the voice says, deep and wounded, "Really?"

It's then that he decides to swivel to meet his conversation partner, and almost starts again. He has to look up to see the person's face, as the lad's quite tall. In fact, he's a little hunched, as if he's trying to meet Louis' height. He's wearing a black button up with matching bell-bottomed trousers, and in the collar of his shirt is a delicate yellow rose. Louis automatically rules him as a pretentious snob, who probably thinks he's so much better than everyone else that he doesn't have to actually dress up for a black-tie event. His hair is shiny curls of chocolate that hang past his shoulders, framing eyes of pure emerald fire. Except they're not so fiery right now. More sad, doe-like. 

Louis blinks rapidly, trying to bring himself back down to earth so he can properly voice his opinions on this painting, but it still takes a few minutes, and as each one ticks by the man before him looks more and more distraught. 

"Well, yes," Louis speaks eventually, his words clipped, "It looks like what I find in the nappies of my little brother and sister."

The man frowns deeply, and Louis notices that his hands are clasped behind his back like he's some professor about to give one of history's most boring lectures. 

"I painted it," he says instead, and Louis' blood runs cold.

Oops.

"W-well," Louis stutters, backtracking quickly, "It's not  _so_ bad. I mean, the triangles are... interesting. Like teeth?"

He sighs, putting a hand to his forehead and smiling sheepishly, "I'm not helping am I?"

The man shakes his head, but the edges of his lips are lifting little by little, and he says, "No. But it's alright. This is the best critique I've received in a while." 

"Really? You mean you've heard worse?" Louis asks, shocked. 

The reply is a weak nod, "I'm actually shit at art, if you haven't noticed."

"Unfortunately," Louis says on a breathy laugh, "I've noticed."

"Harry," the man says suddenly, holding his hand out to Louis, who steps back in surprise.

"Excuse me?" he says, staring at the man's hand as if it's diseased.

"My name's Harry," the man, Harry, repeats, his grinning mouth big and lopsided so it's sort of silly, "And yours?"

"Oh," Louis replies, shaking the proffered hand carefully, "Um, Louis."

"Nice to meet you, even though you so utterly hate my art," Harry says politely, but there's amusement in the dimples pressed firmly in his cheeks. 

"Likewise, and to be honest, I probably couldn't do any better," Louis smiles in a self-deprecating way, sliding his hand out of Harry's quickly, afraid his is clammy. 

Harry quirks an eyebrow, glancing at the painting behind Louis, "You sure? It can't quite be so bad as.. as sick-"

"On a bed of rotting carrots?" Louis interrupts, then regrets the outburst immediately when Harry fires his gaze back to Louis', his eyes wide.

But instead of looking hurt again, Harry laughs, throwing his head back and pushing out horsey cackles that have Louis chuckling into the back of his hand. When his mirth calms, Harry's eyes are shiny like crystal, and Louis feels his stomach tighten in an odd way.

"That's about right," Harry agrees, his voice soft, and a chill runs down Louis' spine at how dark and melancholy it sounds, even when he's so obviously a cheerful flop-haired giant. 

Louis can't find any words to reply with, so they end up standing dumbly and staring at each other, smiles plastered to their faces. This is how Zayn finds them.

"Louis!" Zayn sounds out of breath, "There you are! You wanker, leaving right when-" 

He cuts off when Harry turns to make eye contact with him, and Louis notes the immediate line of tension that darts into Zayn's eyebrows, his lips pursing carefully.

"Zayn," Harry says amiably, swaying to flick his eyes between the two in front of him, and Louis wants to say that's nervousness in the bobbing of his adam's apple.

"Harry," Zayn answers, but his voice his tight, and Louis wonders why. Before he can ask, though, Zayn's grabbing his elbow and tugging him away, muttering, "Let's go Lou, have things to show you."

"Bye Louis!" Harry calls, waving a hand that could probably dwarf both of Louis'.

Louis waves back, his lips upturned slightly, but he makes no reply, instead turns to fall in step with Zayn, who's nearly stomping.

"Alright, mate?" Louis asks carefully.

"Fine," Zayn snaps.

But now Louis' curious, which is never a good thing. Louis' the cat, and curiousity will very well be the death of him. He decides he's going to discover more about this Harry character if it's the last thing he does. 

And it's not at all because he likes the gold light in Harry's green eyes. It's not at all because he has the urge to twirl his fingers in those honey-thick curls. It's not at all because he enjoyed hearing his name in Harry's sunset voice. 

It's definitely none of that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That beginning note I wrote a while back and decided to keep because it's very true. Okay um, I still would like a beta, if you're interested let me know on here or [here](http://tomlinsavage.tumblr.com). My babies that have helped me get through this crap are [a](http://kinkystyles.tumblr.com), [b](http://adoredlou.tumblr.com), and [c](http://louistomlin-no.tumblr.com). They're great, please follow them and send them sweet messages.  
> Sorry this chapter took so long, I've been struggling with writer's block and many other things. Hope you enjoy it, see you next chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling like a man and finding one too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! I'm late and I am sorry about it but that's just life. Let's get to this dang story already!!

After the showcase, things got a bit easier. Louis and Zayn hung out almost every day, catching up by doing what they used to love, such as crushing each other in Fifa and writing songs while drunk on some liquor Zayn happened to find hidden behind the cereals. Louis learned that Zayn was nearly done with uni, which he already sort of knew, but he didn't know that Zayn was planning on moving to London after to look for a job, or that he had already received a few promising offers from some pretty prestigious places.  
  
"Yeah, I mean uni's shit but at least it's getting me somewhere," Zayn mumbles around a bite of pizza as they both lay on his bed, watching Chatty Man, "When I heard you'd basically dropped out, I considered it too. I was like 'yeah, fuck it I'll go do what I want.' But, you know, I had no experience to do what I wanted yet. I'm glad I didn't just give up like that. I would've been lost."  
  
"You judging my decisions, mate?" Louis jabs, fighting a smirk.  
  
"No, no! I didn't mean it that way," but he hears laughter bubbling next to him, and it overtakes the end of his sentence as well.  
  
Christmas is creeping ever closer, and the days leading up to it have filled Louis' mind with a sort of quiet peace. That is, when it's not filled with this overly tall, horribly awkward artist that he can't seem to stop thinking about. He's already tried bringing Harry up with Zayn, but to no avail. Every time he so much as mutters a "ha" sound, he gets a glare that could peel a pineapple.    
  
So he's kept quiet on it, but that doesn't mean his brain has.  
  
It gets so bad that Louis has the stupid urge to go into town, just in case he happens to spot those brown curly waves at the end of a shop aisle. In fact, he has to force himself to keep his mouth closed when his mum calls, "Going to get some groceries, anyone need anything?"  
  
He's still gets chills when he imagines the looks he'll get from neighbors and old acquaintances, even though Zayn has helped a lot in getting him to pass better. He's taught Louis the best hairstyles, and even sat down with him one night to scroll through endless pages of clothes, trying to figure out Louis' taste. It turns out Louis likes stripes. Lots and lots of stripes.  
  
He can tell his family is starting to get a bit antsy, though. Phoebe and Daisy begged him to take them ice-skating, and pouted unceasingly when he refused. And Zayn, too, seems a little annoyed when Louis turns down a trip to the new skatepark uptown.  
  
"You can't hide away forever, Lou," Lottie tells him one night over a carton of ice cream, accusingly stabbing her spoon in the air at him, "Vultures worse than paparazzi live here, and they'll find you out."  
  
She's right, of course. And, to be honest, he's got a little cabin fever himself.  
  
So he decides to go shopping for his mum.  
  
Just days from Christmas.  
  
Otherwise known as, the most idiotic idea Louis Tomlinson has ever had in his life.  
  
The shops are hell, overrun with people struggling to find that last minute gift. Also, they're all people that happen to remember Louis, oh wait, Louise from school or work or as "the older sister of that one huge family whose mum is literally the most recognizable person in town."  
  
The relieving bit is that most of them don't even recognize him. They walk right past, focused on their shopping, and don't give him a second glance. When Mrs. Kraegle, the biggest gossiping hen of all Doncaster, doesn't even so much as smile in his direction, he lets out an overly dramatic sigh and hurries to the next aisle.

 

He survives, surprisingly, and even the cashier is someone he's pretty sure he's never met before. At least they don't seem to know him. Maybe he looks more different than he thought.  
  
Either way, by the end he feels so successful that he thinks he deserves a treat. What better to reward oneself with than a big, greasy hamburger? He loads the groceries into the car and slides into the driver's seat after returning the trolley. The car purrs to life with a single key turn, a blessing considering the frigid temperatures and blankets of snow covering the streets.  
  
He considers just cruising through the drive-thru in order to stay out of the weather, but even as the idea crosses his mind he throws it out, anxiety pulsing in his arteries. He has enough problems standing still and ordering food, no need to complicate it with a moving vehicle and a narrow space to drive in.  
  
Parking’s not too much of a hassle--there's only two other cars in the lot. One looks like it's been through a trash compactor. He parks as far away from it as possible.  
  
The door to the establishment squeaks a little on its hinges as it opens, and there’s oily handprints covering the glass. He's not too bothered; the burgers here speak higher compliments than the aged building does.  
  
He absentmindedly runs his fingers through his hair as he approaches the counter, eyeing the menu above. It's not like he doesn't already know what he wants, but jitters are dancing in his chest and he wants a few minutes to prepare himself before ordering.  
  
He’s pulling out his wallet to figure the exact change he’ll probably need when someone scurries to the register, mumbling, “Sorry about that wait sir, how can I-”  
  
The voice cuts off when Louis looks up, and the smile that he’s plastered on his face drains along with his blood.  
  
“Wait. Louise?” The cashier, or Oli, if he remembers names correctly, asks astonished.  
  
“Ah…” Louis croaks, and the speech that had been on the tip of his tongue throughout his trip in the shop melts into a thick spit that clogs his throat. It drags him into a succession of coughs, hacks, and throat clearings for a few minutes, while Oli continues to gape with annoyingly large eyes.  
  
“He-yeah,” he finally speaks, the words scratchy. He rubs at his watering eyes, brandishing a shivering smile, “Yup, yes. Hi Oli. I'm Louis.”  
  
Oli’s brows furrow just as Louis’ cheeks flame a bright red, “Louis? Uh, okay. Um, how’ve you.. You still modelling?”  
  
“Not really, no.”  
  
“Alright.”  
  
An awkward silence descends, where Louis stares down at his open wallet and Oli acts like he’s inputting something very important into the register.  
  
“You.. Can I get you-?” Oli hedges.  
  
“Oh! Oh yeah, uh, number 4, uh no, 3.”  
  
He takes way too much time fumbling with change and even drops a couple coins, nervously spewing apologies when he bends to retrieve them. He knows Oli’s not actually irritated, but he can't help seeing it in the way his index finger taps against the top of the register monitor.  
  
“Here you are ma’am,” Oli says when he hands Louis his to-go bag, and Louis’ too caught up trying to get the hell out of there to correct him. So he’s stuffing his receipt in his back pocket and making a beeline for the door when he spots him.  
  
The restaurant isn't a chain, but they do have a separate playplace for children, partitioned from the rest of the building by a wall of windows and a single glass door. Louis used to love chasing Zayn and his sisters through the twisting pipes and across the rickety woven bridges, but as soon as he ascended to the rank of rebellious teenager, he and Zayn took extreme care to distance themselves from the vicinity. Perhaps that's why the idea of any single and childless person over the age of 10 willingly choosing to spend the 15 minutes it takes to shove a burger in your face surrounded by screaming children seems so strange to him.  
  
It's the curls that draw his attention, the fluorescents above splashing glimmering red streaks through the smooth brown strands. Then his eyes lock with green irises and his quick steps halt. How long has he been watching? How much sound travels through that smeared glass?  
  
He's considering just throwing the man a wave and continuing on his way, but then those cracked petal pink lips quirk into an unexpected smile. And he falls in love instantly.  
  
Okay not love.  
  
But, something.  
  
Something just as nice.  
  
He backtracks, ignoring the curious vibe coming from Oli’s direction.  
  
This door doesn’t squeak, but his footsteps click on the tile and the man’s looking at him anyway. His smile doesn't fade. Louis feels one taking over his own face.  
  
“Louis, yeah?” purrs that caramel sweet voice, melting over him.  
  
“Alright Harry?” he replies, sliding into the empty seat across from the curls.  
  
Harry nods, blinking slow, brushing back the hair that flops into his eyes with the movement. His burger’s half eaten, but the chip carton is empty, speckles of salt staining the cardboard. He examines Louis’ hands and frowns a little as he asks, “Didn't you get a drink?”  
  
“Oh, uh, no,” Louis answers, a little confused, “Just a burger today.”  
  
“Saving the drink for tomorrow then,” Harry giggles. Louis glances at him in surprise. He’s never heard a grown man giggle before.

“Right,” he says slowly, “How else would I keep my slim figure? Can’t go around eating twice a day you know. I’d look like you,” and he risks a jab at Harry’s belly, his fingertip barely sinking into the soft flesh.  
  
He pulls out of Harry’s personal space quickly, suddenly anxious. He may have met Harry before, but they still don't really know each other, and he’s constantly afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing even amongst friends.  
  
But Harry just laughs, one hand catching the sound and hiding his wide mouth. Louis is a creature of habit, though, so his fingers grip a little tighter on the paper bag he’s holding, his palms growing clammy.  
  
“So,” Harry drones almost sleepily, dropping his chin into his hand (which, Louis remembers, is gigantic), “You know Zayn Malik?”  
  
“Yeah. Best friend,” Louis answers, amazed at how quickly the conversation turned to this subject.  
  
“Really?” he looks genuinely astonished, his eyebrows raising to nearly meet his hairline.  
  
“Y-es,” Louis says, his eyes narrowing suspiciously, “Why?”  
  
Harry shrugs his broad shoulders, glancing out the window with a smirk, “Didn't know Zayn could make friends .”  
  
“Watch it,” Louis remarks, a burning protectiveness sparking in his gut, “You talk shit and I’m gonna have to stand up for him.”  
  
“Hey, no judgement here,” Harry says, raising his hands in surrender, “I have zero companionship myself, so.”  
  
“You’re kidding!” Louis laughs, all hard feelings disappearing as if they'd never been, “You have to have at least one friend.”  
  
“Well, there's Niall, but he's so busy with his music stuff now there's no time for me,” he actually looks like a puppy, his eyes growing large and watery, and Louis can't take it. He has to change the subject. Although he itches to know the Harry-Zayn beef, his curiosity will just have to wait.  
  
“Do you live around here?” it's a bit of an awkward transition, and fear bubbles in his lungs as he wonders if maybe it was too random. He should’ve learned by now though that nothing seems to phase Harry.  
  
“Nah, I’m actually from Cheshire,” he gives an easygoing smile, though his eyes still shine. As if remembering something, he slips a pen out of his jacket pocket and begins to doodle on a napkin out of Louis’ view, managing to stay focused on the conversation as well.  
  
“No way! What’re you doing here then?” Louis asks, discreetly tilting his head to try to get a glimpse of Harry’s sketches, but a styrofoam cup blocks his view still. He clicks his tongue in disappointment. Harry smirks.  
  
“Well, for school of course, but I also work at a bakery nearby. I figured out this place serves the best burgers, so I spend my lunches here,” as if to make his point, he drops the pen and takes a bite of his burger (which has to be rather cold by now).  
  
“You bake?” Louis’ curiosity is continuously growing, and his heart blooms with a sort of satisfaction he hasn't felt in a long time. He relaxes, his shoulders resting against the back of the chair, his ankles crossing.  
  
“Sort of,” Harry sounds sheepish, but maybe it's just because he's obviously trying not to spit food as he talks.  
  
“Okay,” Louis draws out the word, grinning, “What does that mean?”  
  
“Honestly, I’m not very good at that either,” he smiles, reaching up to brush hair from his face, “But they sell my paintings so I try to return the favour.”  
  
Louis shakes his head, chuckling, “I’m sorry Harold, but I don't see how you could get any of your paintings to sell.”  
  
There's that laugh again, the one that makes his mouth a cavern as it bellows out cackles that ring in the air. Louis rubs his fingertips across his upturned lips as he watches, delighting in the brightness he can pull from this man’s face.  
  
“Bloody rude now aren't we?” Harry remarks, his voice rough from the laughter, “Some of my art is actually quite pretty, thank you very much. And calling me by the wrong name? I'd hoped we knew each other better than that.”  
  
“It's perfectly reasonable to assume Harry is short for Harold after only two chats.”  
  
“Well it isn't. It's short for Harry.”  
  
“It can't be short for Harry if it's already Harry,” Louis’ laughing now, and his eyes squint up so much he can barely see the fond look Harry is bestowing on him.  
  
“Well then come up with a better nickname. Harold sounds so pretentious,” he tugs a sip from his straw, watching Louis, his gaze sparkling.  
  
“And you're not pretentious?” Of course it's a jest, still Louis can't help but wonder a little seriously about it. After all, at this very moment Harry is wearing a thick black trenchcoat with the collar popped, the floral button-up beneath not doing its name any justice.  
  
“No! Never!” Harry retorts, frowning now, but when he shifts in his seat just to cross his legs a different direction, Louis smirks because yeah, he kind of is. It's endearing though.  
  
Harry nods his head in the direction of Louis’ hands, asking “You gonna eat that mate?”  
  
“Oh, uh, not here,” Louis stutters, suddenly uncomfortable. He can just imagine how embarrassing it would be to eat in front of Mr. Perfect. He realizes his family is probably wondering where he is. He left home at around 11, and it's 2:30 now.  
  
“Actually,” he starts, moving to stand, “I should probably head out. Me mum wanted me home soon and now I’m late.”  
  
He gives an apologetic smile, but Harry looks heartbroken, his eyes dark and moody, “Oh, but, well,” he stands also, adjusting the coat on his shoulders, “Let me walk you out.”  
  
Louis stills at the statement, bewildered, before smirking as an idea floats into his mind. He straightens, and in an overly nasally voice declares, “Very well good fellow, lead me to my chariot.”  
  
“A pleasure, sir,” Harry coos, then barks a laugh as one of his oversized hands grips Louis’ outstretched elbow. Louis feels a burst of happiness in his chest and can't fight the smile that explodes across his flushed face.  
  
They stumble through the main building wreathed in giggles. Oli must be in the back now, as he's nowhere to be seen. Louis is grateful for it.  
  
Harry mocks the squeal of the door when they push through it, and Louis bubbles amusement into the back of his hand.  
  
“Which chariot is yours, my liege?” Harry queries in a monotone drawl.  
  
Louis cackles, “Enough! The blue one.”  
  
“Ah, the minivan. A wise choice indeed.”  
  
“And you say you aren't pretentious.”  
  
“Oh I am appalled that you would assume such a-”  
  
“Stop!” Louis laughs, slapping his hand over Harry’s mouth.  
  
Then they both freeze, and Louis watches Harry’s eyes widen, the whites around the gold-flecked green shiny. Louis feels heat crawling up the back of his neck.  
  
With a sudden rush of clarity he wrenches his hand back, and behind it Harry’s mouth is agape.  
  
“Oh-h my god, I’m s-so sorry,” Louis stutters, stumbling backward until he falls against his car, fumbling for the door handle.  
  
It looks like it takes Harry a while to find his reply, his lips contorting until he’s murmuring, “No, no it's alright Lou it's fine. Really.”  
  
But Louis’ already sliding into the driver's seat, his heart thumping in his throat. He throws the burger in the passenger seat mumbling through sheepish phrases like “I’ve really got to go,” and “It was nice seeing you.”  
  
“Louis,” Harry says sharply.  
  
Louis glances up, freezing in place.   
  
Harry’s face is calm and drawn, and his hand comes to rest gently on Louis’ thigh. His other hand is holding out a folded napkin, the restaurant branding on it facing up.  
  
“Here,” he says softly. He takes Louis’ hand and presses the napkin into his palm.

Louis looks up, a response on his lips, but Harry’s already walking away, the snowy wind whipping his coattails around his calves. If he were thinking straight, he'd call out to Harry, tell him to wait and maybe ask for his number or something. But instead he pulls the car door shut with a muffled thud and watches the man make his way back into the playplace of an old burger joint. He finds himself fascinated by the dejected way Harry flops back into his plastic-backed chair, not even touching the food spread out before him. He views this spectacle for a while before starting his car and pulling slowly out of the parking lot. Harry never moves. Not once. 

When he arrives home his sisters help him put away the groceries, then swamp him with questions about his venture. He answers vaguely and somehow manages to slip from their interrogation after only a few minutes, passing his burger off to Lottie. He's lost his appetite.

He hurries up the stairs and into his room, shutting the door carefully behind him. The cream walls, covered with various band posters and some pieces of concert memorabilia (he and Zayn are well-traveled individuals) surround him in stoic silence.

He lays back on his bed, sighing as he stares up at the ceiling. He wonders if Harry can see it, in his walk or in his voice. If he can, there's been no indication. But he worries about the napkin getting creases in his pocket. It could be anything, from doodles to, perhaps, a confession. An “I know” from someone he maybe doesn't want to know yet.

It's harder than they all imagine, really. Because sometimes he sees a pretty woman walk past and feels that familiar anxiety, that fear that he's not good enough, that he's _wrong_. Sometimes he stares at the dresses shoved to the right side of his closet and lets the silken fabric slide through his fingertips, afraid he's mistaken, that they all know it, and are just humoring him until he figures it out.

His back has started experiencing this deep ache at least once a day, and he's sure it's from the binding. Often, when he sees himself in the mirror, he gets this strong urge to skip eating for a day, if only so his cheeks won't look so full, and his hips so wide.

But, he thinks as he fingers the soft edges of the napkin, he does eat. He's alive, and his family knows him. That's a hell of a lot more than others in his situation can say. So really, he's a lot better off than he realizes. And maybe he should start appreciating that fact more.

He pulls the napkin out of his pocket and unfolds it.

It's a phone number.

Louis drops his hands, clutching the napkin for dear life, and blinks up at the ceiling, the corners of his smile nearly meeting his teary eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... I did it... I beat my writer's block.. Thank you to everyone reading this because it's you that helped me do it. I hope this chapter was worth it. I promise the next one will be even better. And hopefully sooner, right? Thank you so so so much. So much.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 24th.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! To stay? Well, who knows about that. But, ya know. Here's this.

Louis blinks his eyes open at the tender hour of two in the morning, suddenly wide awake and staring at the ceiling. His brain is muddled from dreams, and something's itching in the background, struggling to be heard. He lets it push its way to the front of his mind, and slowly he remembers that it is now his birthday. As of two hours ago, he turned 24. 

He doesn't feel so different. Not as different as a few weeks ago, when he chopped off his hair and threw out all his purses. But he does recognize the event with a soft, disbelieving snort before rolling onto his side. He feels quiet anxiety grip at his insides, reminding him that he is now 24 with no job to pay for his flat, his upcoming transition, and, of course, food. He swallows repeatedly, trying to digest the feeling and the thoughts. He needs to sleep, he tells himself, and repeats the mantra over and over until everything fades except for a tiny white light.

The light opens up into a dream-scape. He's walking through the uni art building again, glancing at ever-changing pieces, fascinated by the swirling colors and the blurred, unrecognizable faces of their artists. Though the room branches off in many places, he finds himself walking a straight path, his feet taking him toward a painting hanging at the back; the only one that remains unchanged. It doesn't fully make sense to him, though, until he reaches it.

He stops in front of it, taking in the ugly mix of orange and brown, the wretched triangles, and it brings a weird feeling of light-heartedness. Suddenly, he notices a hand resting on his shoulder. He turns his head to see Harry smiling at him, eyes sparkling. 

"You're alright, Lou," his deep voice says. 

Louis opens his mouth to respond, but the dream fades away.

 

\-----

The next time he wakes is 12 p.m., and he's shocked that he was allowed to sleep this late on his birthday. Usually he has a sister or two bouncing on his bed at eight sharp, singing a shrill happy birthday song and begging him to hurry up and get out of bed. So, since he has this nice respite, he decides to move slowly. He sits up with a yawn, swings his legs lazily over the side, takes his time before standing. He rummages carefully through his drawers, picking his outfit for the day and throwing it onto his unmade sheets. Then he sneaks down the hallway to the bathroom for a shower. Thankfully, not a single soul is upstairs. He's actually a bit unnerved by how quiet the house is. 

He sings softly during his shower, scrubbing shampoo through his hair, then conditioner, admiring how silky it feels after. He steps back into his pajamas after drying off and hurries back to his room. Still not a family member in sight. He even peeps down into the living room, expecting to catch the little ones watching cartoons, but the couch is empty and the TV is blank. He's starting to get a little worried. 

He dresses quickly, fixes his hair with a comb, and is shoving his shoes on as he rushes downstairs. He narrowly avoids a rough fall after a scary trip. Thank god for good balance. 

"Mum?" he calls when his feet are safely on the floor of the living room, his brow furrowing as he walks to the kitchen. The lights are off everywhere, and he feels a mini heart attack building. Where did everyone go? He imagines that while he was soundly sleeping, the place was robbed, and his whole family was snatched away, never to be seen again. He bites his lip roughly, trying to force such thoughts away. 

His right foot has just crossed the threshold into the kitchen when the lights blaze on, blinding him for a second, and in that second he goes deaf with the ringing cry of "SURPRISE!" from not only his family, but Zayn's family, all huddled around the island, upon which rests a giant cake. He blinks rapidly, his mouth hanging open slightly, and the group before him breaks into song. 

_"Happy Birthday to Lou,_

_Happy Birthday to Lou,_

_Happy Birthday dear Louis,_

_Happy Birthday to Lou!"_

Halfway through he starts to laugh, and when they've finished he rushes forward, relishing in the outpouring of love that immediately surrounds him in the form of smiling faces and warm embraces. 

"Did you think we'd forgotten about you?" his mum asks into his ear when she wraps her arms around him.

"A little bit," he says with a grin.

"Never," she replies, holding him out at a distance now so he can see her wide smile. 

And doesn't he know it. After all, even when he didn't come home, he always found presents waiting on his doorstep in large packages every Christmas Eve. His mum is too good to him. 

"Hey now, let the lads have a chance to talk," Zayn's voice cuts in, and he cheekily elbows Jay.

She rolls her eyes but backs away, and doesn't appear annoyed for long, as she's soon caught up in a conversation with the girls. Zayn takes the chance to grip Louis' arm and pull him from the huddle, responding to Louis' curious glance with a conspiratorial wiggle of his eyebrows. They stop just inside the living room, and Zayn brandishes a small package from behind his back. It's wrapped neatly in shiny blue paper, with a white bow on top. Louis knows Zayn probably did it himself-- his artsy hands would have no trouble with such a task. 

"You didn't have to," Louis says softly, but Zayn shoves the gift toward him, the left corner of his mouth pulled downward.

"Open it," he barks. 

Louis sheepishly takes the package, proceeding to delicately pick at the tape along the seam. 

"Oh come on, we're not saving the damn paper," Zayn complains, "Rip it!" 

He grins and does as he's told, tearing chunks off until the box is revealed. 

It's cologne. But not just any cologne. 

He rubs the pad of his thumb over the indentations of letters spelling out "TOM FORD" on the face of the box and bites his lower lip. It's his first... well,  _manly_ gift. His heart pounds with something like excitement. 

"Well?" Zayn pushes softly, sounding a bit unsure, "Is it alright?"

Louis lets time tick by for a bit, until he sees his friend growing anxious. Then he yanks Zayn into a hug, snuggling his face into his shoulder. 

"Thank you," he breathes, "It's perfect."

Zayn grumbles and pats Louis' back, but when they pull away he's smiling.

"I'm glad you like it," he says sincerely.

Louis nods, looks back at his gift... then punches Zayn straight in the shoulder.

"Don't spend so much money on me!" He chides while Zayn howls and looks at him in disbelief.

"Rude. I can spend however much I like," Zayn replies snottily, lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes, but rubbing the sore spot. 

Louis chuckles. 

"Louis!" Lottie's voice calls from the kitchen, and he looks up to see her poke her head through the doorway.

"C'mon, you need to blow out your candles," she says, then glances at Zayn, "Stop talking to that waste of space and get in here."

"Waste of space?" Zayn splutters as they follow her, and Louis and Lottie break into loud laughter simultaneously.

\-----

Louis' in the process of kicking Zayn's arse at Fifa when his mum looks up from the book she's reading, glancing at the TV screen in disinterest and asking, "Almost through boys?" 

Louis peeks at his watch, noting the big hand pointing to eight, and pauses the game just as Zayn lined a teammate up for a kick. 

"Lou, what the hell!" he crows, dropping his controller in dismay. 

"Zayn," Jay intones, a warning in her voice. 

He leans his head back to look at her upside down, grinning, "Sorry Mumlinson."

Zayn's lucky his family had decided to go home around five, or his own mum would be scolding him. They'd chilled and talked for a while about life and growing up, but Trish's girls tired of all the hubbub quickly, and ushered their mum out the door as soon as they could get her to end her conversations. Zayn, of course, planned to spend the night. 

"What's up?" Louis asks, spinning around to face his mum. 

Instead of answering, she looks upstairs and calls Lottie. A door opens and closes, and then the blonde rushes about midway down the staircase before stopping to meet her mother's gaze and saying, "Ready then?"

Jay nods, "Get the other girls."

Louis looks at Zayn in confusion while Lottie gathers the crew with shouts of their names. Zayn shrugs.

The family comes tumbling down the steps, and Dan even steps in from putting the twins down for a nap. Louis' glad that Dan got to be home all day today. He enjoyed spending time with the man, and they discussed a lot of things Louis never would have been able to with Mark.

When the gang gets themselves settled, Jay closes her book and sets it aside before standing to stretch. She walks to the giant Christmas tree and rummages underneath it for a minute. Then she carefully turns back around, holding two packages. 

"Oh no," Louis groans, but Jay tuts at him and hands him the gifts while the group leans in, wreathed in smiles. 

"Now, I was going to save everything for tomorrow, but after Zayn broke our promise," she glares at the dark-haired man, who chuckles, "I felt bad and decided you could open a few things tonight." 

"Shouldn't spend your money on me," Louis mumbles, but everyone's shouting him down as soon as the first few words exit his mouth, so he grins and picks up the smaller present. It's sort of flat, with dark green paper and a blue ribbon. 

"Shall I rip it then?" he asks, looking up, and everyone's nodding furiously.

"Hurry up!" Lottie clamors, and Louis rolls his eyes in her direction, but begins to tear into the paper.

He reveals a simple white box, like something that clothing would be in. Anticipation makes his fingertips tingle as he lifts the lid. 

Tissue paper covers whatever is inside. He starts to pull it away, then his hands slow to a stop as the gift is revealed. 

He's really not much of a crier, honest, but tears fill his eyes.

The family are leaning so far toward him he's afraid they'll slip out of their seats. Their eyes are eager and hopeful. 

"Well?" Zayn says sharply, trying to get a look at whatever it is, "Let's see it!"

Louis swallows and carefully slides his fingers under the fabric. It's soft, but stiff, and for a minute he just sits, holding it between his fingertips. Then Zayn clicks his tongue in impatience, so Louis gently lifts the article from the box.

Jay is smiling so wide the apples of her cheeks are red. Lottie has her arms crossed smugly over her chest. The other girls look half confused and half just happy that presents are being opened. Dan looks... proud. Louis' chest feels tight.

Zayn scoots up next to Louis and whispers in his ear, "That's a binder, right?"

Louis nods, unable to speak.

Of course he's wanted a binder. The sports bras worked, but sometimes they cut into his skin, leaving bright red marks of pain after they were removed, and he was afraid to wear them for too long. Plus, seeing them on his body still brought bad feelings, almost as much as a regular bra would. Yet, he didn't think he'd get one of these until later, when he was safely alone at his flat. He was afraid this sort of thing would be too weird for his family, or for Zayn.

But here he was, and here they were, smiling at him and looking like he was the world and they were the stars admiring his existence. 

"I figured you'd want to wear it tomorrow," Jay murmurs, "I ordered it with rush shipping just in case." 

Louis drops his hands, the fabric rumpling back into the box, and his teary eyes swim as he grins.

"Thank you. Thank you so much," he says, his voice cracking slightly.

"Just wait till you open the other one," Lottie says knowingly. Jay gives her a stern look, which his sibling, of course, doesn't catch. 

Louis laughs and sets the box aside, getting to work on the bigger present, peeling away its red wrapping and green bow. 

"I helped pick this one out," Dan adds.

Louis smirks and looks at him to say cheekily, "I expect it to be shit then." 

The quick and harsh scolding he gets from his mum is worth it to see the amusement break out over Dan's face. 

It's the same sort of box, just thicker and wider. He lifts the lid, pulls back the tissue paper, and lets out a gasp.

It's a sharp cut suit, the threads a deep, shiny burgundy. Resting over the lapels is a thin black tie and matching braces. He runs his hand across it, his cheeks sore from smiling so much. 

"You looked proper in that suit of Zayn's, but I think you'll look much more proper in one that fits," Jay says matter-of-factly, to which Zayn snorts, and replies, "My suit was rather nice, thanks." 

Louis rubs his knee against Zayn's comfortingly while thanking his mum. He gets a pinch on his bicep in return. 

"You can wear that tomorrow too," Dan explains, gesturing to the suit, "For the dinner."

Jay grins and claps her hands together excitedly, "Yes! Exactly! And I meant to say, if you have anyone you'd like to invite, just let me know. I want to have a big bash this year." 

Louis freezes. His typical response would be, "Mum, the only person I want to invite is right here," while wrapping an arm around Zayn. 

But now...

He realizes with a start that everyone's waiting for an answer. 

"Uh, we'll see," he says quickly, then stands with both boxes gathered in his arms and stutters, "I'll, um, just go try this stuff on. Be right back."

He throws another thanks over his shoulder as he bustles up the stairs, ignoring their confused faces. 

When he finally stumbles into his room, shutting the door soundly behind him, he heaves out a sigh and fumbles for his phone.

Sure enough, there are a few missed texts. Each one is labeled with "Harry (: short for Harry."

The silly contact name makes him smile. It fits the lanky man and his goofy grin.

Louis gently sets the boxes on his bed, then settles next to them, reading the messages.

_morning lou :-)_

Harry's the weird type that puts noses in their emojis. It simultaneously creeps Louis out and endears him.

_i just put my socks on backward because i was staring at my phone waiting for a text from you :-/_

Louis giggles, scrolls down.

 _still nothing? busy day. it's okay, christmas biscuits and_ love actually _are keeping me company._

 _okay,_ love actually _'s over. talk to me o-o_

The last one was sent about 30 minutes ago. Louis quickly types a reply.

_sorry ! it has been quite the busy day. in fact it's... actually my birthday..._

He sends the text before he can second-guess telling the man that little fact. One part of him didn't really want Harry to know, and another part hopes Harry isn't mad he didn't tell him sooner.

He scrolls back through their previous conversations, a habit he's picked up since they started texting nonstop about a week ago. He's honestly enjoyed every second of it. Harry's not only sweet with a bright sense of humor, he's also smart, and sometimes late at night they'll get to discussing this or that and before Louis knows it it's 3 in the morning, he's still wide awake, and he's not the slightest bit upset about it. 

He doesn't understand what Zayn has against the guy. There's nothing to  _not_ like about him, as far as Louis' concerned. It's because of this that Louis has the strong urge to invite Harry to the annual Tomlinson Christmas dinner. Also because Harry shared the fact that he will be alone for Christmas this year, as he doesn't have the money to travel back home. And that makes Louis sad and sympathetic.

He knows Zayn will probably kill him if he sees the curly headed lad at the dinner table, but Louis can't help it. He wants to be friends with Harry, more than anything. Zayn will just have to get over this little feud he's fabricated between the two of them. 

His phone buzzes in his hand. He pulls up the message with a quick finger swipe.

_your birthday???? and you didn't tell me???? )-: well, happy birthday anyway, even though you're rude._

Louis' still giggling when the other message pops up.

_oh, and happy christmas!!_

Louis' thumbs fly across the screen.

_happy christmas to you too ! (: i'm sorry i didn't tell you... does inviting you to christmas dinner tomorrow make up for it ?_

He hovers over the send button for a split second, but before he can even press down, the sensitive screen registers that he's touched it, and the message pops into the box, proclaiming "sent" proudly beneath it. 

Well. What's done is done.

He's waiting nervously for a reply when the call comes from downstairs.

"Hurry up Lou!" Jay's voice is bright but hedged with impatience, "We're all waiting to see it!"

He drops his phone on his bedside table and begins to undress, throwing his jeans over his bedpost, kicking his shoes off.

When he removes the sports bras, he tucks them gently into a drawer of his dresser. He considered throwing them, but they're a memory now. A part of his first days as Louis. As himself.

He smiles as he picks up the binder, looking it over lovingly before putting it over his head.

And that's about as far as he gets.

Damn, it's  _tight_. Of course, when he was researching he'd read that they were, but he hadn't really expected... this.

He almost starts to panic, afraid he'll be stuck forever with his arms straight up in the air and stiff fabric stretched across his face. He considers calling his mum for help, but talk about embarrassment. He starts to wiggle and shuffle until it's over his armpits, and fresh air rushes into his nose in short bursts. He continues to awkwardly shimmy the garment down till his arms are free enough to be an aid, yanking the binder into place easily.

His first thought is,  _ouch_. Then he sucks in a deep breath, and looks in the mirror. 

His second thought is,  _yes_. 

He can't help but let a single tear drip down his cheek as he turns from side to side, smiling at the thin, flat-chested man in the reflection. He probably could've helped the others that followed, but, fuck it. He cries with relief. He cries with happiness. He cries because he feels right.

After his eyes dry out a bit he gets to work on the suit. His mum had been thoughtful, getting a nude-colored binder so the white button-up he throws on first doesn't expose the article beneath. He steps into the trousers and notices the comfortable fit as he tucks in the shirt. He snaps the braces into place, stretching them over his shoulders, then flips up the collar of the shirt and settles the tie around his neck, tying it easily. Zayn had taught him how to get a perfect knot long ago, when Louis had offhandedly asked for a tutorial "because it looked cool." He's glad he learned the skill so early on. Finally, he shrugs on the suit jacket, buttoning the single button before stepping in front of the mirror once more. 

It's like stepping over the threshold into home. The suit fits  _really_ well, and when he turns to the side there's no sign of any sort of bulge on his chest. He runs a hand down his front and relishes in the flatness, letting a few more tears fall. 

He looks  _good_. 

He tightens the knot of his tie, then starts toward the door to his room. Just before he exits, he remembers his phone. He goes back in to pick it up, checking for any new message.

There's just one. From "Harry (: short for Harry", of course.

_yes!! :-)) i'd love to be there!!! hurry and give me your address, i want to see you already._

Louis' heart beats in his throat as he grins at the screen till it goes dark. 

"Oi! Lou! You forget how to put pants on?" Zayn's annoyed shout echoes up from the living room. 

Louis laughs and cringes at the same time, tucking the phone into the pocket in his jacket. He'll figure out the problem with Zayn tomorrow. For now, he allows his mind to wander with thoughts of dancing green eyes and a deep, husky voice saying "You're alright, Lou." 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this was alright after being away so long. I literally wrote it all in one night so if there are mistakes please please tell me. I'm so glad so many people stayed interested in this even after my long absence. It really made me want to pick it back up again. I hope the Christmas-y vibes make you as excited for the holiday as they did me! Anyway, thanks for sticking around y'all. I'll continue this just for you. (:


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas gift(s). Part I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, update on me, in case you guys care, I just bought a binder myself. Just waiting for it to show up and explain to my parents that "it's a tanktop i promissee." I bought some stuff from hot topic with it so hopefully it won't seem as suspicious... as long as they arrive at around the same time... which I doubt they will hahaha~! 
> 
> Anyway, that was a bunch of stuff no one wanted to read, huh? Enjoy this bit (:

Louis is sleeping soundly, his nose tucked against something warm and his knees pulled tight to his stomach; a comfortable, dozy ball. 

Then the earthquake hits.

Of course, not a literal earthquake. Daisy and Phoebe are too small to create that amount of a shockwave. Still, they are enough to make his bed bounce up and down, throwing him into the air over and over and causing his bubble of happiness to burst. Beside him, the something warm mumbles, "-the hell?"

"Louuisss!" a little girl's voice whines. Honestly, Daisy and Pheeb's whines are so identical he would never be able to tell them apart unless he had his eyes open. And right now he's trying very, very hard to keep his eyes shut. Especially since one of them's gone and thrown open his curtains, and bright sunlight is ripping through his dream shroud with harsh yellow laughter and thin golden fingers.

"Get uppp," another whine begs, "It's Christmas!"

"No it's not," Louis is awake enough to remember the rumpled space heater next to him is none other than a grouchy Zayn, whose voice sounds croaky and quite pissed, "Christmas isn't for another two hours, go back to sleep."

Louis flinches at the sound of a tiny hand smacking Zayn, then a perturbed Daisy says, "Shut up Zaynie. It  _is_ Christmas, so you have to wake up."

One of Louis' eyes cracks open just a bit, catching Zayn shoving a pillow over his head and grumbling, "I don't  _have_ to do anything. This isn't my house." 

Unfortunately, Phoebe is watching Louis very closely, and jumps on him in excitement, squeaking, "Lou's awake! Lou's awake! C'mon, let's go open presents!" 

Louis groans under her weight, but can't stop a laugh from escaping him as he unconvincingly tries to push her off. Seeing her sister having all the fun, Daisy stumbles over Zayn's limp body and plops heavily on Louis' legs, giggling and singing, "Jingle bells, Zaynie smells, Lou's finally awake!" 

"Alright, alright girls!" Louis forces out of his compressed lungs, "Off, both of you!" 

He wiggles his body, making the girls tumble against each other on the bed, laughing. He sits up slowly and stretches, smiling at them, then pounces with tickle fingers outstretched. The girls squeal and hurry out of his reach, their eyes bright and glittering with joy. Once again he's hit with an overwhelming feeling of being home, and the happiness that had encapsulated him in sleep crawls its delicate way back into his veins. 

He rakes a hand through his messy hair and says, "Okay, I'm up. Have you already terrorized Mum and Dan?" 

The two shake their heads in unison, their matching blonde hair twisting together with the movement. 

"Then you best get to your next victims or presents will have to wait," he says it in a casual tone, rolling his shoulder lazily, but as soon as the girls hear "presents" and "wait" in the same sentence, their smiles are gone, replaced with looks of horror.

He grins, "Well, go on then!"

The two bustle from the room, shouting, "Mum! Dad! It's Christmas!"

Louis laughs and falls back onto his bed, snuggling into the covers. Zayn sneaks a look out from under the pillow and whispers, "Have they gone?" 

"Yeah, off to wake the whole house," Louis replies, letting his eyes slide shut, though he knows he can't get back to sleep now. 

Zayn groans and flops onto his back, putting the pillow under his head and crossing his arms over it, "I swear I get the worst sleep when I stay at your place." 

"It's always your choice to stay here," Louis says, smirking at his friend.

"I know. I'm just constantly hoping the girls will sleep till a reasonable hour." He sighs as if the weight of the world is settled on his shoulders, and Louis chuckles.

"Oh come off it you lazy bum. You know you want to open your presents." 

Zayn turns his head to meet Louis' gaze, his eyes sparkling, "Actually, yeah. For once, I'm excited about the dinner tonight."

Louis struggles to keep his smile from faltering.  _The dinner_. He still hasn't told his mum or Zayn about the guest he invited. Later. 

For now he asks, "Excited? Why's that?"

An embarrassed pallor takes over Zayn's face and he shrugs, looking up at the ceiling, "Dunno. Guess because... well, 'cause my best bro is back, you know? Makes things a little more exciting."

"Aw," Louis says softly, actually a little touched, "Thanks Zayn." 

Zayn blinks and furrows his eyebrows, then looks at Louis mischievously, "Oh, wait. You thought I meant you? No, no.  _Dan_. You know, since he's been working, haven't got to see him-"

Louis cuts Zayn off with a punch to the shoulder, and the two break into laughter as Louis shouts, "Rude!"

"I'm up, I'm up!" Louis' mum's exasperated voice comes muffled through the walls, and Louis grins.

"Guess we'd better get ready for presents then?" he asks, but when he turns his head Zayn is already standing, his back facing Louis.

His black boxer briefs hang low on his hips, and when he stretches the muscles around his shoulder blades strain against taught tan skin. If Louis were attracted to him he would be having some serious trouble. Thankfully, he's been lads with Zayn long enough to have decided he's not keen on dating an opinionated arsehole of an artist who will literally leave greasy pizza boxes stacked on his floor for days and clog the fucking toilet at least once a week. 

So, instead of staring, he throws a pillow.

"Oi!" Zayn protests, swinging around quickly with a devilish smirk.

Louis laughs and easily dodges the flying return of the pillow by scrambling off the bed. 

"Truce," he says, putting his hands in the air. Zayn reciprocates the gesture, but the edge of his lips is still quirked. 

Louis turns away and walks to his closet. He rifles through it, pondering what to wear, when he notices a strange silence is trying to stuff itself into the corners of his room. He glances back at Zayn.

He's standing in the center of the room, staring at the binder left draped over a stool. He feels Louis' eyes on him, and smiles at him apologetically.

"Sorry," he says, "Uh, but. Do you.. want me to leave? While you dress? Or are you cool?"

Louis' taken aback by the question. His feet feel suctioned to the floor, and he blinks unseeingly at his friend. He almost completely forgot that even though he was changing, they as physical people were still... different. He swallows hard. 

"Uh," he coughs, finally turning his head to gaze forlornly into the depths of his closet, "Are you... um, uncomfortable? Because then yeah, I mean, you can go, I don't care. I just forgot."

He hears Zayn sigh and looks toward him again. Zayn stares at Louis, scratching the back of his head and smiling carefully as he says, "Honestly? I'm not uncomfortable. I'm an artist Lou, you know how many naked bodies I've seen? It doesn't bother me. I just don't want to make you feel.. you know, weird." 

Louis looks down, his eyes taking in his chest beneath his loose shirt, his slender legs and shapely ankles. And then he has to sigh too. 

"I'd rather you be here," he whispers. 

"Then I'll stay," Zayn replies, just as soft. 

The two smile at each other.

Zayn chooses that moment to try another pillow missile. 

\-----

The house is bustling, chaotic with the sounds of Christmas music, video games, and loud voices. Smells mix and mingle in every room, from the thick vapor of roasting meats to the smooth warmness of baking pies. Zayn and Louis are busy battling it out on the new Star Wars Battlefront one of them (they've forgotten who now) got for Christmas.

Louis knows his mum is probably annoyed that he's not helping with the cooking, but in all honesty he's putting off telling her about their visitor. Then again, he probably should get it over with so she can be preparing for the extra guest. She'll be even more upset with him if he waits till she's set the table to let her know she needs to add a place.

He's been texting Harry throughout the day, mostly about what his family's like and how his house is set up. They've also been regaling each other with various Christmas memories, some of Harry's making Louis giggle out loud. Zayn's been giving him weird looks every time he picks up his phone. Worry churns in his gut when he thinks of the encounter that's bound to happen between his two friends tonight. 

He's died twice now while being lost in thought, and is caught by surprise when the game suddenly pauses. He looks over and sees Zayn stretch and prepare to stand.

"Gotta piss," Zayn says nonchalantly.

Louis nods and watches his friend walk away. This is his chance. He drops his controller and rushes into the kitchen. 

The girls are a mess. Jay and Lottie are covered in flour and different seasonings, taking turns checking the ovens and rolling out cookie dough. Fizzy is mixing about three different things at once, and Daisy and Phoebe are entertaining themselves by chasing each other under everyone else's feet, new dolls cradled carefully in their arms. 

Maybe this isn't the best time.

Then his mum spots him, and she quickly dusts her hands off on her apron with a smile as she walks over. 

"Hey love, having fun?" she asks once she's in earshot.

He grimaces, "Sorry I'm not much help."

She shakes her head and tuts, "No, no. I've got plenty of girls old enough to do work now. Having you in here would make too many cooks in the kitchen, know what I mean?"

"Yeah," he says with an amused smile.

"Did you need something?" she questions, reading him like a book as always. 

Behind her, an oven dings and Lottie's so startled her rolling pin slips from her hands and hits the tile floor with a sharp crack. Jay glances back, and Lottie shrugs in apology before hurrying to check on the oven. 

"You look busy," he hedges, already stepping back, but she puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him. 

"Oh no mister. I know that look too well. What're you hiding?" She raises an eyebrow and smirks. 

Grinning sheepishly, he replies, "Alright, well... I did invite someone. So that's that, see you at dinner!"

He moves to turn on his heel, but damn her grip is tight. He looks up to see her eyes sparkling.

"Who?" she hoots, "Who is it? Do I know them? Are they from work?" Then she frowns and wags a finger as she says, "It better not be that Vivian. Never did like her type." 

"No," Louis says quickly, "No, not Vivian. And he's just a friend. No one to make a fuss over." 

She quirks her head to the side and eyes him carefully, "As far as I know you only have one friend, and he's probably making a mess of my clean house right now."

"Who's talking shite?" Zayn's voice comes from the hallway, and he pokes his head into the kitchen with a wicked grin. 

Jay furrows her brow and scolds, "Zayn Javaad Malik, if you don't start watching your language in this house-"

"You'll spank me?" he laughs, walking in and stealing a cookie off one of the cooling racks along the counter. Fizzy makes a noise of protest. 

"Oh, much worse," she replies with a sly smile, "I'll tell your mother." 

"Well!" Louis interjects, finally releasing himself from his mum's tight grip and backing out of the room, "We should get back to our game to keep him out of trouble, right Zayn? I'll check on you guys again later, when you don't need my help anymore." 

He winks at Lottie, who's glaring at him, and laughs. Zayn laughs along with him and runs into him roughly as he slips out of the kitchen. 

Jay meets Louis' gaze, that curiosity still in her eyes as she opens her mouth to ask another question, but Louis raises a hand to cut her off.

_Don't tell Zayn_ , he mouths. 

Her eyes widen, but she nods. 

He tilts his head with a smile, then follows his friend back to the living room. 

When he settles back into criss-cross on the floor, Zayn glances at him and asks, "So why was she talking about me this time?" 

"Oh you know," Louis replies, shrugging casually, "The usual. Wondering why I'm friends with the rudest bloke in town." 

"Twat," Zayn chuckles, sharply pinching the skin of Louis' forearm.

Louis yelps and pinches back, then they're tussling on the floor, wreathed in laughter. 

From somewhere else in the house, a baby begins to cry, followed immediately by a groan of dismay from Dan. 

"Boys!" his voice rings out, full of annoyance. 

Zayn and Louis still and stare at each other with wide eyes, smothering their remaining laughter. 

 -----

_happy christmas again :-))_

Louis rolls his eyes when he reads the text, but he also feels a smile creep onto his face. 

It's about an hour now until the big event. Zayn went home a few minutes ago to get dressed, so Louis' busying himself helping his mum set the table. She's the type that loves to overdo: huge decorations, fancy plates, flickering scented candles in every corner, and way too many questions. 

"What's he like? Have you met his family? Does he have any food allergies? Does Zayn know him?"

It was extremely frustrating, but he understands and respects his mother's concern, so he answers her questions as best he can. Any time she brings up Zayn, though, he takes care to avoid giving full truths. So yes, Zayn knows him, but as far as she knows that means he likes him as well. 

"Is that him texting you? Did you tell him where we live?" he's quick to slip his phone back into his pocket when she hurries his direction.

"Yes and yes. Stop fussing Mum, it's really not a big deal," he grumbles, straightening a fork that doesn't need to be straightened so he can keep from looking her in the eye. 

"Okay," she says quietly, to his surprise, and when he glances at her she's back to dejectedly folding a napkin. She's only folded three so far, obviously distracted. 

He sighs and moves to put an arm around her shoulders, "Look Mum, I just recently met him, okay? So I can't really tell you all that much, except he's quite nice and I know you'll like him." 

"But do _you_ like him?" she asks gently, then meets his eyes, "As in... I know you're a man. But have your, uh,  _preferences_ changed too? Sorry, this sounds all wrong." She shakes her head and goes back to folding napkins. 

Louis blinks dumbly at her, speechless. He hadn't expected this topic to come up so quickly, and especially not on Christmas. Then again, he supposes it makes sense that she'd want to know. For 23 years of his life she'd listened to him go back and forth on boys, wanting to be with one one day then decidedly enjoying being single the next. Relationships had proved to be a confusing subject for him. He wanted to feel love, to kiss and be kissed, to hold hands. But he wanted it differently. He didn't want love if he could only have it in his current body. He didn't want to be a girl in love with a boy. 

A boy in love with a boy on the other hand... 

He knew he'd always hold a certain attraction for boys. For girls, well... he hadn't looked into that side very much. He didn't know if it was even marginally appealing to him. But when he imagined his hand being wrapped up in _Harry's_ , leaning his head against his broad shoulder..

"I don't know what to say Mum," he murmurs, "It's... it's weird for me too. I think it'll take a while for me to figure all that out. I mean, I still have a lot of other things to worry about."

She doesn't look at him, but he can tell she's listening, as her hands have slowed in their movements. He continues carefully.

"I," he pauses, pursing his lips in thought, "I like this man. And he is quite fit."

She chuckles. 

"I just don't think I'm ready for any sort of relationship, casual or serious. So he's just a friend," when he completes the sentence he lets out a breath slowly through his nose, and his mind feels a little lighter, a little clearer.

"Does he know?" she asks, sounding hesitant.

"About what?"

"About... well, are you planning on telling him about Louise?" he can tell she regrets saying every word, but he's glad for the question.

In fact, he's just thankful for her supportive nature. He's heard too many stories of people like him being nearly, or literally, disowned by their family after they come out, something he was actually a little afraid of. If Mark were still in the picture, that probably would've happened. He shivers, suddenly overwhelmed with appreciation for Dan's presence. 

"Maybe later," he finally answers, sounding a little distant, "After we've known each other longer. I don't know. I might not ever tell him."

She nods in an understanding fashion, and they're both quiet for a minute, lost in thought. 

Louis' phone buzzes, causing him to stir from his stoic state and fish it from his pocket.

_probably should've asked this earlier but... is there a dress code for this?_

He smiles and texts:

_absolutely. only your fanciest clothes. and no cheating with your black shirt/black pants combo this time ! (;_

The reply pops up quickly, before he can click the lock button. 

_yes sir, you'll see no slacking from me sir. *salute*_

Louis laughs out loud, making his mum jump. She turns with a frown and shoves a bundle of napkins at him, "Fold."

He sighs, but he's smiling as he puts his phone away and does as she asks. 

When she's not paying attention, he gives her a tiny salute, and giggles a little to himself. 

\-----

The jacket sleeves slide smoothly onto his arms, the fabric settling gently onto his shoulders. He adjusts the lapels a bit, and buttons the single button, then steps in front of the mirror. It still looks really nice. Except he can see the curve of his hips. 

He knows it's a silly thing to worry over, something that shouldn't be a problem. But he's stressing, and when he stresses he tends to pick out every flaw in sight. And right now, it's that damn curve of his hips. 

He pulls on the hem of the jacket, as if that'll fix it, but it only makes the fabric strain before regaining its tight fit. 

A knock sounds on his door. 

"Just a second," he calls.

"It's Zayn," is the reply.

"Oh," Louis says to himself, then, "Okay. Come in."

The door opens and in steps a literal dream. Zayn actually doesn't have his hair in a quiff, but it still looks good as hell swooped across his forehead, with the blonde streak only slightly breaking up the thick black. He shaved a bit, leaving a clean five o'clock shadow and the hint of a mustache. His double-breasted suit fits snugly against his lithe body, the silk lapels shining under the lights. His dress shoes appear equally polished. 

He smiles at Louis and says, "You look good, mate." 

"You look better," Louis mumbles, turning back to the mirror and messing with his gelled hair dejectedly. 

Zayn walks over and rests his hands on Louis' shoulders, meeting his eyes in the mirror, "We are both handsome. Stop putting yourself down."

Louis sighs and closes his eyes for a bit, trying to calm himself. When he opens them again, he forces a smile and says, "Alright. Let's go." 

The voices of people have been drifting muffled into Louis' room for a few minutes now, so he's expecting the small crowd that's gathered in the living room, sipping on glasses of wine and chatting. Christmas music intermingles with the clamor. When Zayn and Louis come down the stairs, a few look up. Some don't look away for a while, watching Louis with confusion before noticing their ill manners and controlling their gazes. He swallows and his throat clicks. His stomach feels like mush.

He recognizes mostly everyone-- his grandparents, aunts and uncles, some cousins, as well as quite a few of Zayn's extended family. Probably some of Dan's family is here too. He doesn't see Harry anywhere yet. 

Instead of introducing himself, he slides past the group and searches for his mum. Zayn follows slowly, then breaks off to say hi to someone. He's always the more outgoing one at events, even if it means leaving his friend behind.

Louis finds Jay in the kitchen, holding a glass of wine and staring at an oven. She glances up when he walks in.

"Hey boo," she says with a smile, "You look nice."

Then she notices his pale face and her smile fades. 

"What's wrong?" she asks, walking over and passing him her wine. 

He takes a healthy sip before saying breathlessly, "Mum. How do I do this?" He gestures toward the party, fear etched in the crinkles by his eyes.

Her face fills with sympathy, and she grips his elbow, leading him back toward the people, "Let me show you. That pie has a while to bake anyway." 

He downs about half the glass before they set foot in the room. Then they're mixed up in the hubbub, and his mum is welcoming guests with a smile and bright laughter. She makes it seem so simple. She stops Louis with a tug on his elbow in front of an older woman he recognizes instantly.

"Hello Nan," Jay starts, reaching out to grab hold of one of the woman's hands, "Happy Christmas! You remember Louis don't you? My oldest son?" 

Louis' nan looks at him and blinks a few times, then says incredulously, "Louise?"

"Louis," Jay corrects gently, before Louis can even open his mouth.

The elderly woman glances between the two of them, of course looking quite confused, but eventually pulls Louis in for a hug anyway.

"It's so good to see you dear," she says, holding him out at arm's length, "You've grown so much." 

"Thanks Nan," he says, his voice slightly hoarse. The detached interaction cuts him deep. He and his nan had always been very close. He'd called her constantly while away from home, enjoying their lengthy talks about the weather or how her verbenas were growing or the new teacups she's added to her collection. Now her blank, uncertain eyes hold none of the warmth he's become accustomed to.   

They stand and look at each other for a minute, neither side saying a word, until Louis' mum pulls him away.

"We'll catch up with you later Nan. Have to say hi to everyone else, you know?" she smiles. 

His nan nods and watches them move on through the crowd, her brow furrowed. 

"That went well," he mutters to his mum, sounding annoyed. A shadow of sadness threatens at the back of his mind.

"You're going to have to let everyone get used to you," she replies in a loud whisper, "What do you expect? This is their first glimpse of you after three years. They remember you much differently." 

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his mouth, "I know." 

Every interaction from that point on goes much the same: confused eyes, raised brows, pursed lips. He can feel the flower inside him that had been blooming over the past few weeks slowly begin to wilt, petals drifting to settle in his dry stomach. The only refreshing greetings happen between Dan's relatives, but they had never met Louis before this. They shake his hand with vigor and compliment him heavily on his suit and good upbringing. He, unfortunately, can barely bring himself to smile. 

After a while, Jay gets caught up in a conversation with an aunt, and Louis drifts away, feeling aimless and lonely. Zayn meets up with him for a few minutes, raving about what so-and-so said about this or that, but grows tired of Louis' downcast mood, and moves on to someone happier. Louis hears his trademark dark laughter fill the room as he chooses to disappear back into the kitchen. 

He slides onto a stool at the island, resting his chin in his hand and blindly examining the oven, still baking away. Its heat pulsates into the room with welcoming arms. He checks his watch. It's been about 30 minutes now, and Harry still hasn't shown. There's no texts on his phone either. He assumes the man isn't coming, and as this thought passes through his mind he realizes how weird it was to even ask Harry in the first place. Who invites someone they just met to a family dinner? 

"Idiots," he mumbles to himself. 

He turns his gaze back to the crowd of people. Dan's brought the twins out now, all dressed up in their special Christmas outfits, and family members are ooo-ing and ahh-ing over the tiny pair. Lottie is caught up in a wild tale, to which two of Zayn's sisters, Waliyha and Doniya, are listening intently. Fizzy is entertaining Safaa, Daisy, and Phoebe near the Christmas tree, using some of their new toys. Zayn's laughter rings out again, and Louis decides he's tired of pouting where everyone can see him. 

He walks through the kitchen to the dining room. On the far wall, a set of french doors lead out to the back garden. Louis quietly escapes to the frosty air, and the hubbub of the party dies with the click of the door resealing behind him. 

The snow outside swallows every sound, so that his soft breathing is loudest in his ears. The stars are already greeting the earth with twinkling waves, and the moon is low and nearly full, its diffused glow as white as the landscape it's glittering upon. He tilts his head toward it and closes his eyes, enjoying the chipper breeze that brings a tender flush to his cheeks. 

He doesn't really know how long he's out there, his hands in his pockets and his face angled toward the sky. The cold steadily creeps up on him, making his toes, squished in uncomfortable dress shoes, go numb, and his nose almost feel as if it's blistering. No one comes to check on him. The muted sounds of the pie being removed from the oven come and go. New snow begins to fall, dusting his jacket and the quiff he'd dedicated a good chunk of time to. 

Suddenly, he hears the noise of tires slowing in the street, and headlights sweep through the garden. His eyes fly open. 

He knows it's illogical, but his brain has already decided it's Harry. Fear and excitement pile up on each other in his bloodstream, and for the first time he really feels the cold, his body breaking out in goosebumps and racking with shivers. He hears the car door squeak open and thunk closed, but he doesn't move or turn his head. There's no view of the back garden from the driveway, but he still has the itching feeling of eyes on his back. He listens carefully to the crunch of footsteps in the snow, and imagines Harry's big feet leaving Sasquatch-like indentations. He stifles giggles with a trembling smile. The footsteps draw ever closer, but sound hesitant. Louis realizes Harry must be nervous. After all, he's only had two face-to-face meetings with someone he only knows over texts, and that someone just invited him to meet an entire strange family. Louis' heart aches for him, but he still makes no move. 

Without warning, a sneeze abruptly breaks the silence. Louis slaps his hands over his mouth in shock at his own mistake. The footsteps stop. 

"Hello?" a voice calls, sounding far away, but still recognizable in its depth and cordial sweetness. 

_Harry_.

Louis squeezes his eyes shut.

"Hello-o?" the call comes again, and then the footsteps return, picking up their pace. Louis' shoulders droop, but he continues to steadfastly hope the crunches aren't headed in his direction. He keeps his eyes trained on the side gate, though, just in case. 

Sure enough, not two minutes later a curly head bobs over the gate, swiveling left to right in search of the sneezing culprit. It doesn't take him long to spot Louis. And though it's dark out, the smile that covers his face is easy to see. 

"Louis!" he exclaims brightly. 

Louis gives him a timid wave, "Hey Harry."

Harry leans into the gate as if he's going to just fall right through it, then notices he's not going anywhere with a disappointed frown. He effortlessly reaches over and flips the latch, letting himself in. Louis makes a mental note to tell his mum they need taller fences. 

Harry strides toward Louis, wearing that trenchcoat again so there's no view of his outfit save for flashes of pants between dark folds of cloth. Louis squints and... is that floral print? 

"Happy Christmas," Harry says quietly, causing Louis to tear his eyes away so he doesn't appear an awkward peeper.

"Again?" Louis replies with a smirk.

Harry laughs and nods. 

"Happy Christmas," Louis parrots, but his heart is doing strange triple flips in his chest when he sees it only makes Harry crack up more. 

 Harry looks around, his body spinning with the movements so it seems more dramatic, "Isn't the party inside?"

"Yeah," Louis answers, watching the man with a small smile.

"Then what're you doing out here?" Harry meets his eyes, and the moon splashes silver over that emerald gaze.

"Just enjoying the peace and quiet for a bit," Louis lies, while fear sparks in his chest. Why oh why did he invite Harry to this? One of his relatives is bound to slip up and use the wrong pronouns or name, and then Harry will know and he'll leave and never ever talk to Louis again and-

"Is that your mum?" Harry's mellow voice breaks into his thoughts, and when he blinks the curls back into focus he notices Harry is pointing behind him. 

He turns around and catches sight of Jay in the entrance to the kitchen, leaning against the door frame and grinning. She waves ecstatically when she realizes she's been spotted. 

"Uh, yup," Louis says, frowning at the intruder.

"I think she wants us to come inside," Harry adds. 

Jay is frantically gesturing at them to come inside. 

"Looks like it," Louis agrees in monotone. 

Louis hears Harry move up beside him, then feels a hand wrap around his forearm. He glances down at the fingers caressing his new jacket, snowflakes stuck to knuckles and burgundy threads, then at Harry's face. Dark chocolate curls fall to frame those flashing green eyes and moonlit smile. 

"Lead on, good sir. I hear there's a party to attend," Harry purrs. 

Louis grins, feeling his nervousness plummet to the soles of his squeaky dress shoes. Without hesitation, he steps forward and opens the door for his late Christmas gift. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to go on and add the dinner to this chapter but holy shit it went on forever. So, I'm splitting this into two parts. Next chapter, complete and utter chaos. I'm nervous.


End file.
